


Stricher

by Cylin



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a capital A, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioning of Abuse, Special Type of Prostituion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I pretty much dislike prostitution fics (because they tend to be over-emotional, cheesy, unrealistic and plain mushy…). But, alas, here we have me, jumping onto that bandwagon to try and write a fic that steers clear of the clichés. :)</p><p>Prompt fill from the kink-meme: <i>You know, I've only seen stories with Charles as the rent boy or the prostitute, never Erik.</i><br/><i>Do something, I would like to read heartbreaking stories with Erik as a prostitute.</i></p><p>Okay, I did. :}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stricher

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely Ginbitch from LJ and my wonderful friend James. You guys are awesome!

They had fallen into an easy pattern.

Charles would walk home from work as a professor at the Berlin NYU branch and pass his corner. The other man would stand there, tall, dark and brooding, until he saw Charles. Then he would break into a small smile, like he was privately amused and sharing a joke just with himself and nod at Charles politely, sometimes winking at him mock alluring, sometimes not.

Charles would grin back at him and ask about how it was going today. Then he would answer, sometimes it was going good, sometimes he was bored, sometimes the clients were asses, but he would always smile cheekily, shrug and say, that’s life, and they would both nod, smile at each other politely and Charles would walk another block and arrive at his flat.

Charles still marvelled at how easily he could talk to that man about his job. He never thought he would talk to a male prostitute with surprisingly little prejudice himself and be met with honesty and pleasant cheek. That man always had a warm smile for him, but also a privately amused one, ever since Charles had slipped on a particularly treacherous piece of ice just in front of him at the beginning of this winter. His messenger bag had spewed its contents, books, papers, his Mac (thankfully in a padded sleeve), his mobile (which was curiously called a “Handy” in German), his keys, two open packets of handkerchiefs, a chap stick (without the cap) and a lot of bitten pencils and Biro's all over the sidewalk. Charles had cursed a blue streak as he bruised his tailbone quite severely, cursing the city, cursing the arctic weather he was not used to and hated, cursing the poor maintenance of this street in winter, cursing the mess and disarray of his papers and only stopping, when he saw an outstretched hand in front of his face in a clear invitation to help.

He took it and the other man, who had always stood at this particular corner ever since Charles moved into this area that autumn, helped him up carefully. He let Charles lean against a low window-sill of the old apartment house and catch his breath as he proceeded to pick up the scattered contents of Charles’s bag. He didn’t, of course, put them in order, but he arranged them neatly into a stack and handed them to Charles together with his laptop and all the smaller items held precariously in his other hand. He had big hands with long fingers, Charles noticed.  
“Alles ok?” He asked. He had a pleasant voice, a little gravelly, but that could be from not speaking a lot and standing in the cold all evening.

“Ja.” Charles replied awkwardly. He only knew a few broken phrases of German, but he’d understood him regardless. There weren’t many options about what a person would say in a situation like this.

The other man obviously picked up on his accent. “American, English or Australian?” He asked and a friendly, curious smile crept into his voice.

“British.” Charles replied, wincing a little as he stroked a hand over his lower back to ease the painful throb of the bruise a little.

“You live down the road, right?” The man asked politely. Charles wasn’t really sure he liked it that the man knew where he lived. Ever since moving in to his flat at the beginning of the winter term, he had known that this man standing at the corner every evening must be a male prostitute, a “Stricher”. It was easy to notice, if you knew what to look for. Charles knew prostitution was legal in Germany and if not morally and ethically a clean line of work, at least in Berlin it was grudgingly accepted as an urban occurrence and a part of the city. If you knew where to go, you could find someone and anything to please your needs and people didn’t even so much as blink at it most of the time. Charles had marvelled at how open the Berliners seemed with that and had tried to incorporate this idea within his rather restricted and a little prudish British self. But having a prostitute know where he lived was different and he felt a suspicious reservation against it. Try as he might, he could not completely free himself from all the prejudices about drugs, STDs, human trafficking and deviant sexual practices that came with this notorious profession.

The other man picked up on his mood and smiled a sardonic, slightly self-deprecating smile that was not less pleasant or less honest because of it. “I’ll just walk you to your front door. Nothing more, don’t worry.” He held out his hand again and after a moment’s hesitation Charles took it. His lower back was so uncomfortably bruised he could only hobble awkwardly alongside the other man and was rather grateful that he helped him, keeping him balanced on the slippery ice that covered the side walk. They didn’t talk as they walked the single block to the house in which Charles’s flat was located, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

At the door to the entrance hall of the building they just smiled at each other; Charles in quiet, gracious thanks and the other man in an honest _you’re welcome_ and then he turned around and walked back to his corner, leaving Charles in peace like he promised.

From that moment on they would always smile and greet each other and they fell into a pleasant routine of short small talk. It still amazed Charles how comfortable he grew with talking to the other man. He realised that he didn’t feel put off or disgusted at all, simply because the other man seemed so comfortable with what he did. On top of it, he seemed to be quite a pleasant fellow.

xXx

“I thought I’d bring you tea. It’s so cold.” It seemed like a good idea at the time, when Charles had seen the red liquid in the thermometer he kept on his balcony had dropped to minus 12 degrees centigrade. But now he felt slightly uncomfortable. He only wanted to be nice, but he now realised that it could be misconstrued as badly disguised interest on his part in the services of this man.

But the other man just smiled his warm, pleasant smile and took the metal cup of the thermos gratefully. He looked over the rim at Charles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and muttered, “Wie niedlich,” against the cup before taking a cautious sip. Charles made a mental note to look those words up in a dictionary later, if he could figure out how they were actually spelt. They stood together, Charles holding the thermos in his thickly gloved hands and the other holding the cup between frost-red fingers.

“Slow night?” Charles asked just to break the silence.

“Yeah,” he answered, “The weather is really bad today.” He smiled over the last sip and held the cup out to Charles. He refilled it and the other man drank in silence, his eyes never leaving Charles’s face or losing their privately amused twinkle. Charles always wondered what the joke was actually about and felt the other man was laughing at him a little, but it wasn’t malicious. Rather instead they were constantly sharing a private joke that only existed between the two of them.

The other man finished the second cup and turned it upside down and shook it a little to dispel the last droplets of liquid. He looked at Charles and held the cup out with a thankful smile. A car passed on the street and he looked up over Charles’s shoulder, his eyes following the car for a moment. Charles took the cup and screwed it back onto the thermos. He looked up at the other man, not really knowing how to go about the situation now. Should he just leave, or say something, or what?

“Thanks,” the man said with a smile that grew slightly askew, “Thanks for the tea, but – uh -you need to leave now, otherwise they’ll think you’re a customer. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to, you know, work.”

Charles heard the car turn around at the end of the street and drive slowly back, ice and gravel crunching under the wheels.

“Oh yeah, sure, sorry,” Charles replied slightly flustered and feeling terribly out of place.

“Don’t be sorry, the tea was really nice. Thank you.” He smiled warmly, his lips red with the heat from the drink.

Charles smiled and turned around, his eyes scanning over the dark blue BMW that slowly crept towards them. He tried to see the driver inside, wondering what kind of man would come to pay another for sex. He passed the car and only got a glimpse of greying hair, as the door of the car opened and the light went on for a moment, as the man got inside. He was an older gentleman with money, judging from his car. _And a wife and two wonderful kids at university,_ Charles thought unkindly. He walked back to his apartment and spent the next 20 minutes looking up the phrase the other man had said to him earlier.

 _Wie niedlich_ apparently translated to quite a few meanings:

How cute.  
How sweet.  
How pretty.  
How nice.

Charles was wondering how the other man had meant it. Had he referred to Charles’s action or Charles himself? He felt that he was wondering about that distinction a little too much and put the dictionary back into its slot on the bending IKEA shelf called “Billy” he used as a bookshelf. He made himself a fresh, scaldingly hot cup of tea and went to bed early, leaving the still half full thermos he had made for the other man to cool on his kitchen counter, abandoned.

xXx

Charles saw him again on his way back from work standing at his corner as always, breaking into that twinkly smile as he saw Charles approach.

“How is it going?” Charles asked, slipping easily back into their routine. He remembered then that he still hadn’t emptied the thermos standing forlornly on his kitchen counter.

“It’s going to be ok, I guess.” He replied, amiably, his breath hanging in the air in white wisps and tucking his hands deeper into his jeans pockets.

They smiled and parted ways.

When Charles stood at the door to his balcony that night, looking at the clear night sky and watching the red line in the thermometer drop slowly, but steadily towards the minus 17 degree mark, he wondered if that man had a warm home, a flat, he would go to or if he was still standing in the cold. _Could he just leave if he was cold and freezing or was there a pimp somewhere that made him stand there all night? Did male prostitutes even have pimps?_

He frowned, opened the balcony door and pressed a button on the thermometer to record the lowest temperature it would fall to that night. He closed the door quickly, as frigid air fell into the room and crept up his chins, only reluctantly warming up and rising.

Weather forecasts predicted that this winter would maybe break records. Berlin was a lot colder than Oxford. When Charles had told his Berlin friends that a local paper had complained about “arctic temperatures of minus 5 degrees” the year before, they had only heartily laughed at it, as temperature here dropped below the minus 20 degree mark.

He hated the cold, but at least it was a dry cold and not the wet, windy and clammy cold of an English winter. He wondered again, why he had actually moved to a place, where the climate was so contrary in its extremes to what he liked. But then he reminded himself, he had not moved because of the weather, it was his job that had brought him here. And because he liked the city, the people, the lifestyle lifestyle. Berlin was gritty, derelict in places, shiny and new in others, but generally a place of wonder and an easy place to live.

He turned around and his eyes fell onto the thermos, still standing opened on the kitchen counter. With a sigh he emptied it and rinsed it, watching the milky mixture spiral down the drain. He went to bed, without putting the bottle back into its proper place, leaving it sitting on the counter, now without its contents, but looking exactly like it had the night before when it had been cooling off.

The next morning Charles blanched and felt goose bumps spring up uncomfortably all over his body as he saw how low the temperature had dropped that night. Minus 21.5 degrees.

He was quicker in getting ready for work than usual and walked briskly towards the corner. But like every morning the other man was not there. Charles didn’t know exactly when he came out here, but he hoped with a surprisingly desperate twinge that he would see him this evening when he came back home. He really hoped that man had not been standing here all night. For the first time, he actually feared that the other man could actually die from the cold. It was naïve, how he had never really thought about that before. But that was probably due to how relaxed and easy the other man seemed with this situation, but now it was becoming dangerous, Charles felt, life threatening even.

He hurried off to work, stupidly and irrationally hoping evening would come quicker, if he only hurried enough.

xXx

“Are you alright? You look a little…odd,” the man asked as Charles approached that evening.

Charles only now noticed that he had quite a severe frown creasing his forehead. “Oh thank God! You’re here.” He breathed feeling relieved and making a conscious effort to smooth the worry lines between his brows.

The man raised a confusedly amused eyebrow. “I’m always here.”

“Yes, but I mean, it was so cold. Last night, it was so cold, and I got...” Charles trailed off awkwardly. Now he was about to say it, he felt stupid for his concern. This guy was a grown man and he seemed quite together, so Charles’s mother-hen instinct was probably completely misplaced and maybe even coming across as offensive and patronising.

“You worried about me?” The other man asked and there was that amused, mock-alluring wink for a moment. _Thank god_ , Charles thought, he had apparently not offended him.

“Yes, well…. Maybe a little.” Charles murmured sheepishly, feeling his ears grow warm.

“Niedlich.” The man murmured around a smile.

And there was that word again. _Cute, sweet, pretty, nice._ Charles frowned again, trying to figure out a way to approach the subject of him worrying so much without coming across as overbearing or patronising or nosy or invasive or impolite or – _argh, screw his British sensibilities!_

“They said it’s gonna be even colder tonight, maybe around minus 25 degrees. Do you stand here all night?”

“If I’m lucky I spend most of the night horizontal and quite warm, actually,” he said with a dirty wink. Charles felt the flush from his ears spread over his cheeks rapidly. If he was a little more self-absorbed or hadn’t known this man for a while now, he might have missed the slightly darker shadows around his eyes and the evasive manoeuvre that this cheeky answer so obviously was. The other man was trying to dispel his concern and that fact alone, with the tired air that Charles now really felt oozing off the other man, was enough to make his worry flare up anew. Something was not quite right.

“Listen, how much do you take for a night?” Charles asked following a sudden impulse.

“What?” The other man asked, taken aback and his eyes widened. “You want to sleep with me?” His voice sounded positively disappointed in Charles.

Charles cringed. “No, I’d like you to come home with me and warm up, but I know you need to work and make money for your pimp or whatever…”

“No pimp,” the other said in a monotone, looking confused and suddenly very mistrusting.

“Ok, but I know you have to make money and if I have to pay you to come home with me, I’ll do it, but please,” Charles pleaded and he saw the other man’s eyes soften somewhat at his tone, “Please don’t stay here all night.”

The other man smiled wryly, shaking his head once. He looked up at the clear sky that promised a bitterly cold night, making up his mind and then just turned towards Charles’s apartment building.

xXx

 

After ascending the four flights of stairs Charles was wheezing slightly as always and envying the other man, who didn’t even breathe harder. He really needed to start working out, Charles thought, he was sitting around too much. It would probably screw up his back in the long run, if he didn’t do something about it, while he was still young. He imagined himself as an old professor, with liver spots on his bald head and a spine curved unnaturally into the shape of a question mark. He definitely needed to start working out. Tomorrow. Or the day after. But definitely soon. Soon-ish.

Entering his small, but cosily furnished flat, Charles noticed that Erik’s gaze instantly strayed to the thermos sitting on the kitchen counter being visible through the open door of the hall. Charles ushered him inside and closed the door against the cold air wafting in from the unheated staircase. The other man took of his shoes and walked into the kitchen, devoid of any shyness or hesitancy. He looked down at the thermos for a moment, his hand twitching to touch it, but clearly restraining himself from doing so. Charles followed him and caught the gaze the man now directed at his heavily laden “Billy” bookshelves, which he saw through the open door from the kitchen to his living room.

“What do you do?” He asked curiously, then hastily added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Charles replied, watching as the other man stepped forward into the other room, letting his fingers trail over the books. “I graduated from Oxford and now I’m a professor at the Berlin branch of the New York University.”

Charles felt a shiver creep up his spine as the other man’s fingers stopped stroking the spines of his science books. _He really had nice hands. For a man._ For a moment Charles was confused about that thought and wondered which dark corner it had sneaked up from. But then he resolutely ignored it. That was something for him to mull over later, in the privacy of his own head, late on lonely nights.

The other man shrugged out of his leather jacket, hanging it tidily up on a hanger and turning around, every movement oozing an unconscious sexuality that was more enthralling because it was entirely unconscious and real. “You really don’t want me to, you know, do something? You’re paying for this after all.”

“No, thanks, I’m alright.” Charles said quickly, feeling uncomfortable thinking about what this man offered so easily. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked to change the subject.

The other man shook his head, “I’ve already eaten.”

But when Charles started cooking spaghetti bolognaise and the smell of freshly cooked food drifted through the flat, the man looked at the bubbling sauce speculatively. Charles wordlessly set the table for two and they both sat down at the tiny kitchen table (also IKEA, called ‘Ivan’ or ‘Igor’ or something ridiculously unpronounceable like ‘Björketorp’) to eat facing each other over the bowl of pasta richly decorated with parmesan cheese.

“My name’s Erik.” The man breathed over a forkful of spaghetti, offering the name almost as a thank you, cleverly avoiding looking at Charles by pretending to make sure a piece of mince actually stayed on top of the rolled up pasta.

“Charles,” Charles said after thoroughly chewing and swallowing his mouthful.

Erik grinned at that.

“What?” Charles asked, noticing he was the subject of a private joke again he did not get.

“You are a university professor from Oxford called Charles? How very British of you.” Erik remarked with an amused twinkle showing the laughter lines around his eyes. “The only thing that could make this even more cliché would be you actually being called James.”

“Charles is a perfectly good name, thank you very much,” he said in mock offence, but his tone of voice made it clear he was actually sharing the joke now. His German friends had told him once that James and Charles were the two names that were considered the epitome of Englishness for Germans.

They continued to eat in comfortable silence after that.

After they had finished their dinner, Charles put the dishes away, feeling Erik’s gaze on the back of his head. He turned with a smile that he hoped looked encouraging and not as nervous and out of his depth as he actually felt.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m alright, really,” Erik said with a lopsided smile, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice, but unnecessary.”

“Well, like you pointed out, I’m paying for this night, it’s my night, so let me worry.”

Erik huffed out a breathy, short laugh at that, nodding, clearly deciding to indulge Charles.

“So, Charles,” Erik said, and Charles noticed absentmindedly that he really liked how his name rolled off of Erik’s tongue, “What shall we do with your night then?”

“Uhm,” Charles muttered under his breath, “I actually haven’t really thought that far ahead. What would you suggest?”

Erik waggled his eyebrows playfully at him and Charles added hastily, “Apart from the obvious.” Damn, he felt another flush starting at his neck.

Erik looked around cautiously at that, stepping into the living room, looking suddenly very out of place and uncomfortable. His eyes raked over the shelves of books, the small TV in the corner and finally stopped on an antique chessboard, already set and waiting for willing players. He nodded towards it. “Do you play?”

xXx  
(Charles’s table is called ‘Norden’, btw…. If anyone was wondering for some odd reason…. o.O  
It seems a lot of Berlin households are furnished with IKEA furniture…. probably because it’s cheap and reasonably nice.)

 

Charles woke up when the permanent alarm on his mobile, which was still tucked into his trouser pocket went off. He was halfway sitting up, halfway laying down on his couch and had apparently slept like this. He had a crick in his neck, was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, but at least he had a blanket to keep him warm. Erik must have thrown it over him last night – or more accurately this morning.

He remembered playing chess with the prostitute till the early hours of the morning. _Chess-playing Prostitute_ \- that sounded like the title of a very bad porn flick. Charles cringed not sure whether to laugh at himself or be disturbed.

The memory of the last couple of games bled into leaden tiredness and was blurry and incomplete. He did remember Erik not getting tired at all and frowned at that for a moment. _That wasn’t really normal, was it? Did he take something to keep awake?_ Charles felt instantly guilty for that thought. _Or maybe for a man working during the night it was normal,_ but somehow Charles still suspected there was something else behind it. He recalled the desolate air that clung to the other man that Charles only now learned to pick up on accurately. Something was definitely off somehow.

He fought the blanket that had wrapped around him making him into a woolly caterpillar. He looked around, listening for any sound of the other man. His flat was eerily silent. _Where the heck was Erik?_

That question was instantly answered, when the balcony door opened, admitting a gust of freezing cold air and a shivering Erik. He smiled, when he saw Charles’s dishevelled form, still partially wrapped in the blanket.

“Good morning,” Erik said. Charles smelled cold cigarette smoke being carried on the frigid air towards him.

“You smoke?” He asked stupidly.

“Breakfast of champions.” Erik murmured, looking away. There was an air of hesitancy about him as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to approach the subject. “Listen, Charles, I really need to go home.”

“Oh, ok, sure, I’ll quickly make some breakfast. Coffee or tea?” Charles got up, kicked the rest of the blanket pooling around his ankles away and trudged into the kitchen. He had that grubby I-slept-in-my-clothes feeling on his skin and decided he really needed a shower soon.

Erik followed him. “No, Charles. No breakfast, I need to go.”

“Oh…” Charles murmured, stopping halfway towards the kettle on the counter. “Ok,” He said awkwardly. He fidgeted with his hands not knowing what to do now that putting the kettle on was out of the question. He hoped the disappointment hadn’t been too audible in his voice. By the cringing gaze Erik flicked to the side quickly and the way he tried to hide it instantly, it apparently was very audible.

“Do you want to take a shower or something?” Charles asked politely, not thinking anything by the offer, until it left his lips and the possible sexual interpretation of it became instantly palpable in the air between them.

“No, I’m good,” Erik said, apparently taking pity on Charles and the embarrassed flush that was creeping over his pale cheeks, “I can shower at home. I…” he trailed off uncomfortably., taking a small, halting breath before he continued, “Listen, Charles, I really need to go home and you… you haven’t paid me yet.”

“Oh my Gosh, “Charles exclaimed, instantly turning an even darker shade of red, “I am so sorry, Erik, of course, of course, just -” He stumbled into the narrow hall towards his jacket and his wallet only to remember that he probably didn’t have enough cash in there. So he hurried back, through the kitchen, avoiding looking at Erik as he passed him, just muttering a quiet, “let me just get my, uh…,” and went to his desk in the living room. He always kept quite an amount of Euros in a small metal box in the lowest drawer, because there wasn’t a bank or cash point anywhere on his route to work and he hated not having money and paying by card.

Erik remained in the kitchen, politely avoiding looking at where Charles kept his money, busying himself with looking at the world outside the kitchen window. It had snowed during the night. The world was wrapped in pristine white, the skeletal trees now fluffy with a thick, powdery crust along their branches. His hand rested on the counter next to the empty thermos, not touching it.

“How much? Uhm, I mean for the night?” Charles asked hesitantly, coming up behind Erik, the colourful Euro notes rustling slightly in his hand. Erik told him the amount dispassionately and Charles counted it out, holding it out to him.

“Thanks,” Erik said solemnly, but he smiled a small smile when he took the money and Charles hoped it was a smile directed at him and not the money.

Erik went into the hall to pick up his jacket, shrugged into it and went to the door. Just before he opened it, he turned back and smiled over his shoulder. “Thanks again.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for. “I’ll see you around?” Charles had meant it to be a casual statement, but it came out a quiet plea. Erik’s smile brightened warmly. “Sure,” he murmured, “You know where I usually am.”

Then he was gone and Charles was left in his kitchen with the faint smell of cold cigarette smoke still lingering in the air.

xXx

When he walked home that evening Charles saw a silver Opel Corsa (the continental European version of the Vauxhall Corsa) stopping in front of Erik. After a quick talk, he got in and the car drove off. Charles felt alone. He had been looking forward to their short banter, to the easy small talk.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, he wanted to be assured that everything was still alright between them, that the awkwardness of a paid night spent together – although nothing besides sharing dinner and playing Chess had happened – hadn’t changed anything.

He felt like kicking himself for this insecurity, but here he was: Fretting and wondering and hoping that he hadn’t screwed up this dynamic between them beyond repair. His intentions had been good, but after spending all day musing about last night, he wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea.

The small talk had been nice all that time. _Why change a good thing, right?_ he thought bitterly and felt a pang of guilt at the uncharitable thought. When he walked past Erik’s usual spot, now empty, he decided firmly he would not under any circumstances feel bad or guilty or anything negative about having the impulse to help another human being. Ever.

At home alone, he warmed up the leftover pasta from the night before. The sauce was even better now after infusing a day and developing the spices in a nicely distinct way, but he barely tasted it. He sat at his IKEA kitchen table, staring at the empty chair on the other side, shoving food into his mouth mechanically. If he looked up over the back of the empty chair he would be able to see the thermos still sitting on the counter, the cup and lid resting neatly beside it. He wondered if that item was now irrevocably connected to the other man. He wondered if there was an emotional response connected to it as well now, besides a mere image memory.

He decisively refused to look up to find out.

He watched the late night news without understanding much besides the images. His German was really bad still. He made a mental note to maybe apply for a language course. He hadn’t really needed to learn the language besides a few broken phrases to get by and amuse his German friends. Most people in Berlin spoke at least a little to really good English and went out of their way usually to accommodate him. He had found the Germans to be very friendly and helpful and wondered where that prejudice against them being impolite and rough actually came from.

He wandered aimlessly through his flat, picking up a book to read, deciding against it and putting it down again. He didn’t really know what to do with himself this evening it seemed. At eleven he put on his PJs and got ready for bed. Have an early night for a change.

His eyes strayed to the chess board that sat on a small side table between two cosy armchairs near the balcony door. Erik must have put everything back in order the night before, because Charles couldn’t remember doing it himself and everything was in an almost pristine state. _A very tidy guy,_ Charles thought.

He looked up at the thermometer fastened to the outside of the balcony door. Minus 15 degrees, but stable and if the weather forecast was to be believed it wouldn’t drop much more that night. Charles wondered if he should designate a temperature at which he would invite Erik to spend the night again. Did he actually _want_ Erik to spend the night again? Did Erik?

He went to bed without making up his mind.

xXx

At three in the morning he was still awake, staring at the old stucco on his bedroom ceiling. It had been painted over so many times by countless generations the floral relief was blunted to mere bumps and shallow dips. It was still beautiful though. He realised that he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon, so he got out of bed finally and went into his small kitchen to put the kettle on. Maybe a nice, hot cup of tea would help.

His eyes fell onto the thermos still sitting innocently on the counter. He sighed, hanging his head resignedly for a moment and in the end decided to follow his instinct again.

When the water boiled, he filled it into the thermos, instead of a single cup, put on his jeans over his jimjams, coat over his sleep shirt and went to Erik’s corner, chancing that he might be there.

Despite it not being as cold as the night before the wind was icy, whipping underneath his coat and through the thin cotton of his PJs underneath. Charles pulled the coat tighter around himself.

Erik was there, apparently long back from his trick with whoever had been in that silver Corsa. He broke into a bright grin when he saw Charles walk up to him, already unscrewing the thermos and filling the cup. “You really shouldn’t do that.” Erik scolded gently, taking the proffered cup gratefully.

“What, now you don’t like tea all of a sudden?” Charles answered deliberately misunderstanding him. Erik just smiled, his eyes darting over his face, shining with good humour. They strayed to Charles’s neck and suddenly widened a little. He leant towards Charles, uncurling his cold fingers towards his throat. Charles suddenly felt his mouth go dry and swallowed once, not daring to move. Erik only hesitated for an instant as if he wasn’t sure if this breach of personal space was allowed, but then he resolutely pushed the hem of Charles’s winter coat away, revealing the collar of his PJs underneath.

“Fuck, Charles,” he muttered roughly at the thin clothes Charles’s coat was hiding, “You really shouldn’t be out here in the middle of winter like this.”

 _Neither should you_ , Charles wanted to say, but held back. “I just couldn’t sleep,” he said instead.

Erik scrutinised him closely for a long moment, his expression revealing nothing. When he pulled his hand back his ice cold fingers brushed along Charles’s jaw quickly almost as if by accident. “We’re alright, Charles, don’t worry.”

And he didn’t. Not anymore. He only realised now it was gone, how much that worry about a possible change in their relationship had weighed on him. He felt an appreciative smile light up his face. Erik smiled back, winked at him once playfully and took another careful sip of tea. His breath fogged even more now it was tea-warmed and he breathed it into the air like cigarette smoke.

“You ok?” Charles asked carefully, trying to make it sound less personally invasive than it was really meant.

“Yeah,” Erik answered completely ignoring the undercurrent of emotion, shaking out the last droplets from the cup onto the icy sidewalk as seemed to be his habit when he was done. He handed the cup back. “Go home and sleep, Charles, you’ve got work in the morning.”

Charles nodded and did as he was told, but not before looking for another gentle smile from the other man. Erik indulgently provided a lopsided one that warmed Charles all by itself.

xXx

They went smoothly back to their routine. The only difference was that Erik smiled openly at him now, when he saw Charles round the corner and walk up to his. The weather was a little milder. The temperature seldom dropped below minus 11, but it was windy and the air was strangely humid. The clammy cold would creep under any piece of clothing they wore, but Erik never seemed to mind much. The slightly desolate air about him was still there, but it was less pronounced and he always seemed to be in a good mood, when he and Charles talked. They talked and laughed and smiled. Sometimes Charles would bring him tea later, sometimes not, sometimes Erik was there and sometimes not. Still Charles would walk the remaining distance back to his flat and feel light and elated for the rest of the evening.

Then, over two weeks after Erik had spent the night (Charles referred to it as the Chess Night in his head) he stood leaning against the wall of the building. He smiled his radiant smile, but instantly Charles knew something was wrong: Erik never leaned against the wall. He always stood around with an alluring air of casual, predatory sexuality. There were faint shadows under his eyes that made him look drawn, despite the real smile he directed at Charles.

When Erik saw the concerned look Charles scrutinised him with, he drew himself up and swaggered closer in a deliberately relaxed way that made it even more obvious to Charles that something was not quite right. “Erik, what happened?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, Charles.” He smiled his cheeky, mock alluring grin complete even with the wink. Charles scowled at him even more suspiciously. “Erik?” He murmured warningly.

“Charles, please, really, I’m fine. I’m o-ok.” Erik winced slightly on the last word and scowled at the snowy ground knowing full well that this last slip-up had really made any chance of Charles leaving it at that impossible.

“C’mon, Erik, my place. Now.” Charles said with the most commanding tone he could muster. When he saw Erik starting to protest, he just went on in a mildly threatening tone that hid how real the threat actually was, “If you don’t, I’ll stand here all night, pretending to be a customer and scare everyone away.”

They looked at each other, both their eyes hard, unwilling to give in, until Charles muttered peaceably, “I’ll pay of course and – and there’s tea.”

Erik broke out into short, barking laughter at that unexpected comment. He winced the next moment, drawing his shoulders up and the laughter died down to a low gasp.

“Ok, that’s enough, really, Erik.” Charles muttered knowing full well how much like a scolding school nurse he sounded. He reached out for the other man’s arm. Erik pulled his hand away before Charles could touch him. “Ok,” Erik muttered defeated, but not without pride, “Ok, just let me walk on my own.”

Charles bit his lip, but nodded. If it hadn’t been obvious to Charles before that something was not right, it was painfully obvious now that Erik tried to walk to his flat. He held himself awfully stiffly, trying not to move his torso too much while he walked. He was obviously in pain and the way he held his lower back awkwardly with every step he took really worried Charles. Considering Erik’s choice of job the thought about internal injuries wasn’t far fetched for Charles. He considered getting him to a hospital, but decided against it for now. He wasn’t sure how to get Erik there, if he didn’t want to go – and boy, was Charles sure, Erik didn’t want to go. Erik was a tall, tough guy, if he really wanted to, he could probably break Charles in half like a twig. That made the thought about him having gotten hurt even more scaring. What kind of guy had attacked him for him not to be able to fight back? More than one maybe? If he had been in a fight at all. Charles wasn’t entirely sure about that.

When they finally made it to Charles’s floor, he decided to first assess any possible injuries and if necessary call an ambulance. Erik’s face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but he held himself proudly upright as he stepped into the flat. Like the last time Erik took off his shoes, but he refused to take off his jacket, before he walked into the kitchen without looking at Charles.

Charles followed and they stood there for a moment, avoiding each other in the small room. Finally Charles put the kettle on for lack of anything else he could think of to do. He made two cups of tea and handed Erik one. They both leaned against the kitchen counter next to each other, facing away from the other.

“You don’t need to tell me what happened, but please let me help you.” Charles murmured into the rim of his cup. Erik went even stiffer beside him. “See it as my kink, if that helps.” Charles offered peaceably with a wry smile. Maybe that was actually closer to the truth than he cared to admit.

He heard Erik blow onto the hot tea taking a careful sip. He put the cup wordlessly down on the counter next to Charles, turned away and shed his jacket with his back turned to Charles. The piece of clothing revealed a thick woolly Norwegian sweater. Everything looked fairly normal, if it wasn’t for the slight discolouration of small bruises on the back of his neck, just peeking out from the collar of the pullover. He shed the Norwegian pullover as well, revealing a white t-shirt and a better view on the bruises on the back of his neck.

Charles sucked in a sharp breath, when he saw faint red lines of dried blood had seeped through the white shirt just above the waistband of his jeans. Erik stopped, his shoulders tensing for a moment at the small sound Charles had made, but he pulled the shirt out of his jeans and pulled it over his head with stiff movements.

There were small, round bruises all along the back of his neck. Like finger marks, Charles thought. Had someone tried to strangle him? His back looked fairly unharmed, but even from here Charles could see the stiff muscles under the skin. Leading down to his buttocks there were thin blood-crusted lines vanishing under the waistband of his jeans. Scratch-marks - and not really shallow either. They looked raised like welts and some were surrounded by reddish bruises slowly darkening in colour.

“Shit, Erik, what -?” Charles couldn’t help but ask, but then he held back biting his lip. He had promised that Erik needn’t explain anything and he was determined to keep it that way. Charles wanted Erik to feel that he could trust him.

“Would you like to take a shower?” He asked after a short pause in which Erik just stood there, facing away from him, not moving a muscle.

“No, thanks,” Erik answered in a clipped tone. It might be better to wash the scratches, but Charles was not going to force a shower on him. Apparently Erik didn’t really like showering at other people’s places. It was the second time he had refused, after all.

Charles went into his small bathroom wordlessly, getting his antiseptic salve and one for sore muscles as well. When he came back into the kitchen, Erik had migrated to the couch in his living room, sitting awkwardly on the side of his hip trying not to put any weight on his lower back.

“I’ve got antiseptic salve and one for sore muscles, I could, you know, if you want… I mean, if you let me, uh...” Charles fidgeted with the two tubes in his hand.

“What?” Erik asked, confused.

Charles took a deep breath, swallowing his pride and the uncomfortable feeling of having paid for a night with Erik again only to molest him, when he clearly needed help. “I could rub it on your back, if you’re ok with it.”

“I think that’s pretty much the only way.” Erik said with a small, ironic smile, “I might be flexible, but I’m not _that_ flexible, at least not tonight.” He got up from the couch and turned his back to Charles again. Charles decided to start with the antiseptic cream for the scratches, ignoring his shaking hands, as he stroked cream covered fingers over the small of the other man’s back. If possible Erik got even stiffer, his breath shallow and forced.

“I’m sorry,” Charles muttered, feeling utterly miserable.

“It’s ok, Charles,” Erik answered, forcibly relaxing, “It’s ok.”

Erik’s skin was warm and surprisingly soft. There were tiny blond hairs on the small of his back. Almost like soft down, Charles thought, fascinated. The streaks of broken skin ran down under Erik’s jeans and Charles hesitated for a moment, until he dipped his fingers below the waistband to reach them.

“Hang on a sec.” Erik muttered. Charles could hear the rustle of the buttons and then Erik unceremoniously dropped his jeans. He was naked underneath. The scratches ran over his backside and even down one thigh, there were bruises there, too. The main focus of aggression had been his arse cheeks however. And the back of his neck, Charles thought, looking up to not stare at Erik’s ass. That just felt wrong. He swallowed once, collecting himself and trying to force his mind into a detached medical state, removing himself from any emotion.

The muscles underneath his fingers twitched, when he touched them and he swallowed again. He thought about touching the back of Erik’s thighs even with the guise of applying a cream… it was too much, too personal, too awkward.

“Do you want to… you know, er…” Charles muttered, his fingers fluttering away, wiping them on his own trousers to get rid of the cream.

Erik wordlessly held his hand out with an air of annoyance at Charles’s flustered stuttering and Charles handed over the cream. Erik squirted antiseptic cream into his hand liberally and smeared it haphazardly over the back of his upper thigh and his arse cheeks. Charles looked away. It felt kind of improper to watch another guy touch their own arse. Having seen the actual dark bruises and where they were located on Erik’s body, his worry about internal injuries flared up anew. He had no idea how to approach the subject, though. But he bravely tried anyway, “What about, er, I mean, uh,” he gestured vaguely to Erik’s lower back, although Erik couldn’t see it, “Internal … you know?” He cringed inwardly at how bad he was at this.

Erik gave him a flat look over his shoulder. Seeing the red flush creep over Charles’s pale cheeks, the nervous fidgeting, but also his earnestly caring look, Erik’s expression gentled. “I’m ok, I checked. I didn’t bleed or anything, so I’m probably just a little bruised.”

Charles couldn’t help but wince in sympathy at that.

“I think the muscles I pulled in my back are actually worse.”

Charles wasn’t sure he believed that, but didn’t argue. “Do I need to call the police?” Charles asked instead, “Do you maybe want to make a statement?”

“Charles,” Erik trailed off for a moment, facing away again, pulling his jeans up. He winced, when the fabric brushed over his skin, then he turned around to face Charles, “I wasn’t attacked.” He searched Charles’s eyes for another endless moment, seemingly unsure, how to proceed from here. “I don’t know how open minded you are and I really don’t want to shock you or anything, but…”

Charles followed his inkling. “S&M?” He asked, deliberately tonelessly, no value placed on the statement. Erik just nodded in answer, biting his lower lip, he seemed to gauge Charles’s reaction to that piece of information. Charles surprised himself and apparently Erik, too. For a proper English university professor, he knew quite a bit about this. “But I thought it’s not really about hurting your partner. It’s a kind of game, right?”

Erik smiled wryly, wincing, when he remembered. “My “partner” got a little carried away.”

“And the bruises on your neck?” Charles asked. He surprised himself a little. He didn’t feel disgusted at all. He was just curious.

“He held me down,” Erik said dispassionately.

“But you’re a big guy, you could defend yourself, right?” Charles asked, not understanding why Erik would allow to be hurt like that. Then a thought occurred to him. “Uhm, or do you actually like that?” Hastily he added, “Oh God, you don’t need to answer that! I’m sorry! That’s quite nosy of me, I’m sorry, Erik. Forget it.”

Erik smiled, taking pity on the flustered man. “It’s ok, Charles and no, I don’t like S&M, but it goes with the territory especially for a guy like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually people don’t want me to fuck them,” Erik said matter of fact. Charles twitched uncomfortably at the careless use of this offensive word. “It’s usually the other way round. They want to dominate me, for the very reason that I am tall and broad and apparently appear very butch. It’s all about exerting power over me.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Despite the subject matter, Charles was intrigued.

“Not really, sex is sex, and my job is my job.”

“So sleeping with men is just a job for you?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m actually straight, really.”

“Seriously?” Charles inwardly cringed at the incredulous tone of his voice. Erik frowned at that, too. “Yes.” He said a little too sharply.

Charles felt strangely relieved at that. It meant he didn’t need to worry about how he felt anymore. It was all clear now. All the weird tension between them was in vain really, they could be just friends and that would be ok. Charles pushed the flare of disappointment down. That was just because things hadn’t been clear before and he had been intrigued, right? Just curiosity on his part, right?

“Chess?” Erik asked to change the subject and Charles nodded gratefully.

So they played. It was like the last time, only Erik winced with every movement he made. He tried hard not to let it show, Charles was sure, but he saw it anyway. He got a glass of water and two Ibuprofen, just shoving both at him, after an hour of Erik’s uncomfortable wincing. It seemed to help a little, but not that much.

“Erik, “Charles said then, rubbing his forehead that creased into a perpetual frown while he had watched the other man hurt silently in front of him, “Will you let me help with your back, please? Your twitching is disconcerting.”

“I’m sorry,” Erik muttered sheepishly, trying to draw himself up to appear less hurt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, if you’d only let me help you. Really, you’re the most stubborn wanker, I’ve ever known.”

Erik actually laughed at that, his eyes twinkling and the laughter lines showing again. Charles liked them especially.

“What do you suggest?” Erik asked.

“Massage with that other cream.” Charles said and tried to prevent Erik’s next cheeky comeback, by quickly adding, “My sister taught me.”

Erik had a cheeky comeback anyway, “Kinky. Really, Charles if I’d known body worship was your thing, I’d come here more often.”

Charles had a feeling this easy banter was to throw him off again and why would Erik always do that? He thought about the stiff pose he had had when Charles had applied the cream earlier. There was something odd for Erik about being touched. Considering his choice of work, that came as a surprise to Charles. He decided to leave it for the moment and instead answered with an almost cheeky grin, “I’m neither going to lick, kiss nor suck your back.” Judging by the curiously raised eyebrow he had apparently surprised Erik again, by knowing exactly what he was talking about. “It’s just a massage to relax your muscles. Nothing more, nothing less. I can do it and you should let me.” Erik didn’t look convinced. Following another impulse Charles asked slightly challenging, “Or are you afraid?”

That got an annoyed response. “Why would I be afraid?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Erik huffed out an exasperated breath. “Fine, fine, your night, your kink. Go ahead, knock yourself out.” He shed his clothes again, but left the jeans on.

Charles got the blanket from the sofa and laid it out on the carpet to make it a little more comfortable. Usually he would sit on the person’s arse or have them sit on a chair their back facing him, but that was out of the question, because Erik really couldn’t sit down comfortably. So he knelt next to Erik when he stretched out on the blanket.

“This is really just a massage, Erik, and you can tell me to stop anytime, ok?”

“I’m not a fucking virgin when it comes to massages, thank you very much.” Erik growled and Charles took it as the annoyed attempt to save face that it probably was.

He let his hands trail carefully over Erik’s exposed back to assess where the muscles were cramped up the worst. “Did you pull them during your session?” He asked calmly. Erik’s back seemed like one solid surface, the muscles knotted and hard. That wasn’t good. No wonder the Ibuprofen hadn’t really worked.

“Yeah, it was quite uncomfortable.” Erik answered deliberately lightly, between gritted teeth.

Charles nodded to himself and started to use his flat hands to warm the skin and underlying muscle by brushing over his back repeatedly. He worked methodically, like Raven had shown him. It was soothing, how well he knew the movements. Going through the familiar motions was putting him in a relaxed, almost trance-like state.

At first Erik was still stiff and unyielding. It was very obvious he didn’t enjoy it one bit. Whether that was due to his back hurting and Charles agitating the nerves even more, or him touching Erik in the first place, Charles couldn’t tell. After a while however he relaxed somewhat and Charles had the distinct feeling he was subconsciously leaning into the caresses. It was almost like he was touch-starved. Charles was puzzled at that. He was a prostitute, sex was his business and touch was a main selling point, wasn’t it?

But maybe not this kind of touch. Touch for the sake of touching, nothing else, but to be soothing and caring. Charles wondered when someone had caressed this man without wanting anything else for it. That thought made him incredibly sad. He didn’t pity Erik, far from it, Erik was too strong for that, but he felt for him. At this moment, Charles realised, he really did care.

After a long while Charles finished his ministrations and was quite pleased with himself. Erik’s back was red, but that only meant blood circulated well again and the muscles were supple and yielding to his touch.

“Erik?” He asked quietly, but got no response. Charles leaned down towards his face and realised the other man had fallen asleep. He smiled to himself.

He got a spare duvet and pillow and arranged it around Erik. Then he got money out to pay for this night and left it next to the thermos in the kitchen. Charles assumed Erik would want to leave as early as possible, judging from his behaviour after their Chess Night.

Charles got ready for bed. When he brushed his teeth, Charles couldn’t help but walk out of the bathroom once to look at the deeply exhausted, sleeping man on his living room floor.

They both slept well and dreamless that night.

xXx

The next morning Charles found the duvet neatly folded with the pillow actually fluffed up on top of the pile on his couch. The slight scent of cold smoke hung in the air again, so Erik couldn’t be gone long, but Charles somehow knew, he wasn’t in the flat anymore.

He walked into the kitchen only to stop puzzled in the doorway. Where he had left the money on the counter next to the thermos for Erik to take it, there were still some notes left. Charles frowned, went over and counted the cheerily colourful notes. Erik had only taken half. Why he had done that was a complete mystery to Charles. Was it because he had actually fallen asleep, instead of staying awake all night like last time?

Somehow the thought of Erik feeling he didn’t deserve the money they had agreed on, because he had needed to sleep, felt devastatingly cruel. He needed to talk to him about that, but Erik would only be at his corner in the evening and today was Thursday, and that meant Charles was meeting with his German friends at a bar in the evening. They had made it a fixed date now to drag him away from his books and grading papers and all the other things his job required. He loved going to the pub, but his job didn’t permit that much time, or he was simply too tired most evenings. So they made him go out with them, which he found really cute and caring, but they did it in a German, punctual and planned fashion. That was a little odd, he found.

Going out was still fun though, but he worried about Erik again. That was a little odd, too.

xXx

It wasn’t even that late yet, barely approaching midnight, but Charles felt pleasantly drunk. The cold didn’t bother him anymore and his thoughts were cheery, but enjoyably mellow.

When he turned into his street he could already make out Erik’s tall form on the next corner. He waved cheerfully at him, avoiding a fall just barely by cheer luck, when he slipped on some ice. Like the first time they’d met, Charles observed curiously. That thought made his chest warm and his smile even broader, approaching silly.

“Wow, “Erik chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement, “You’re actually drunk.” There was a hint of disbelieving amazement in his voice.

“Of course I am, I am British,” Charles answered as if that settled the issue

Erik tried not to laugh at that. He only succeeded partially. His eyes shown with amusement. Charles really liked those laughter lines. He really, really, _really, reeeally_ did, he thought stupidly.

“As much as I am amused that you would take it upon yourself to make such a shining example of the prejudice that all Brits are drunkards, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you tipsy before.” Erik commented dryly. He made to say more in his kindly amused way, but Charles had suddenly remembered the burning issue he wanted to talk to him about.

“Why did you take half of the money?”

Erik’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Charles, I know you helped me and all, I know that and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I-”

Charles saw the misunderstanding instantly. He sobered somewhat at Erik’s guilty expression. He didn’t mind that Erik took his money at all. After all it was what they had agreed upon. He was just curious, why he didn’t take all of it, like they had agreed. He saw Erik’s face flush with embarrassment, so he tried to lighten the mood with a joke, “You’re young and stupid and need the money?”

As jokes went it fell a little flat, even to Charles’s alcohol addled mind, but Erik grinned a little, recognising the joke for the mood lightener it was, “Yeah, something like that. But listen, Charles…”

“Don’t worry, Erik. I was more surprised you didn’t take all of it. We did agree on it for a night.”

Erik looked surprisingly scandalised and slightly affronted, “I couldn’t. You helped me, for fucks sake! I just… I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Ok, ok,” Charles said, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Let’s forget that then. We just do the manly thing and not talk about it

Erik seemed torn between laughing at the comment and still feeling unsure, so Charles added, “We’re still ok, Erik.” That sentence had a strange déjà-vu feeling to it. It seemed to get a lot of use between them.

They stood there, not really sure what to say for a moment, until finally Erik broke the silence. His voice was less confident than usual and sounded a tad hesitant. “Listen, Charles, I…” he stopped, looking to the side, apparently searching for words. He seemed to make up his mind and shot a deliberately toothy grin at Charles. It looked real, but a little forced. “Well, since I know now that you’re not averse to the good things in life, how about I’ll bring some beer over sometime and we could have a game of chess again?”

‘Good things in life’ echoed around Charles’s head. _I haven’t had sex in ages,_ he thought wistfully, but managed to steer his brain into safer waters before he said something stupid and inappropriate.

“Yeah, sure I’d like that,” Charles said, watching Erik’s face carefully. “Saturday?” After a short pause he wondered aloud, “Or do you work on weekends?”

Erik smiled lopsidedly at that, but his face had brightened into a real and relaxed expression. “I work whenever I want,” he murmured mysteriously.

Somehow Charles found that funny, a part of his mind deciding firmly that he really was still drunk, and nodded in good-bye.

Only when he reached the door of his flat, did he realise he had squeezed Erik’s neck when he had walked past him. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the expression that had crossed the other man’s face at that.

Stupid alcohol. And he was straight anyway.

xXx

Charles didn’t manage to see Erik on Friday. He was probably working, he told himself. Horizontal work, he thought a tad unkindly. Charles cringed at that and tried to forget he had ever thought such a thought. He didn’t allow himself to look at the thermos when he walked into the kitchen. He spent his evening sitting bored on his couch in the living room, zapping through channels on his telly.

On Saturday morning, still half asleep, Charles realised they hadn’t set a time or talked about if they would have dinner together. Should he prepare something, or should they cook together? Did blokes cook together?

Annoyed at himself, Charles thought, of course they did. Or at least _he_ did with his friends. Erik was a friend. Right?

Chess playing, no money exchanging hands, meant friendship, right? Or a more normal friendship at least. Charles realised he had thought of Erik as his friend for a while now, despite the money.

He turned over in his bed and fell back asleep for a while.

In the evening Charles sat on his couch again, waiting rather anxiously and found himself observing his thermometer. It was getting colder again. Christmas and New Year would come around soon, and Charles didn’t really know what to do with that. Did Raven want to see him over the holidays? Did Erik have family, who wanted to see him?

Suddenly he heard a muffled sound that sounded vaguely familiar. He frowned, listened for a moment and there it was again. It came from outside and resembled his name quite a bit. Still frowning he stepped out onto his balcony and looked down.

Erik was standing on the sidewalk, looking up, waving a six pack at him, when he saw Charles lean over the banister.

“I don’t know which door bell to ring. What’s your last name?” Erik shouted, as Charles found, with minimal regard for the neighbours. But then it was Saturday evening, so no one should be offended really.

“It’s Xavier.”

“Zav- what?”

Erik’s breath was a white cloud in the air around his face for a moment until it was absorbed by the frigid night air.

“X-A-V-I-E-R.”

The next moment Charles heard his bell for the entrance hall ring. He dashed to buzz Erik in and waited nervously just in front of his door. He wasn’t sure if he should open it and wait, or if that would seem too eager. Before he could make up his mind, the doorbell to his flat rang.

He waited for a second, to not give away, that he’d been standing in front of his door already and felt stupid for doing so. He opened the door and smiled welcoming.

Erik was a little out of breath. So he had run up the stairs, Charles thought and felt a little smug about that.

“Well, Mister Funny-Last-Name, I come bearing beer.” Erik let the six pack dangle lazily from two fingers, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“It’s a perfectly normal last name, thank you very much.”

Before Charles could finish Erik rolled his eyes, mouthing the words exaggeratedly with a mock annoyed eyeroll in perfect sync as Charles said them. Charles couldn’t keep his grin contained. Erik answered it with a smirk of his own and seemed to relax a little. Charles wondered if he had been nervous, too.

When Erik didn’t immediately step into the flat like he’d done the last two times, Charles felt a little confused. _Did Erik have second thoughts now?_ In the next instant he felt sheepish. _God, could he be anymore like 12? And a bloody girl?_

“Uhm, come in,” he said and stepped back from the door, then shutting it behind Erik.

Erik peeled himself out of his jacket, hung it tidily on a hook and then untied his boots, which he also arranged tidily in front of one of Charles’s small shelves along one wall in the hall.

“Er, I didn’t know if you’d be hungry, so I didn’t cook anything yet, but we can do that, if you’re hungry,” Charles offered at a loss of anything else to say or how to proceed really.

“Nah, I’m not hungry yet, maybe later?”

Charles nodded, again at a loss and fidgeted, torn between taking the six pack from Erik like a good host and walking into the kitchen, or talk to him, or anything. How was it that this was more difficult, than when he had paid Erik for this?

Erik was better at covering it, but he seemed a tad hesitant as well. It astonished Charles a little, since he had already been here twice now, but maybe this was different for him, too.

“Chess?” Erik asked quietly, the fingers curled into the cardboard holding the beer bottles turning white with suppressed, nervous tension. Charles still noticed the flexing of his fingers though and Erik’s uncertainty made him finally push down his own and put on a brave smile, which he hoped looked welcoming and encouraging.

“Yes, of course. It’s all set.”

“Good, because I’ve come to kick your butt.” Erik’s hesitant grin morphed into a cheeky smirk. He seemed a lot more relaxed now they had a plan of how the evening would proceed.

“You didn’t kick my butt last time.” Charles reminded him, raising an eyebrow challengingly at him.

“Exactly. This is the rematch. The rematch to end all rematches!” His chest puffed up in dramatically overstated self-assurance Erik strutted into the kitchen like a peacock. That broke the last of the tension. Charles snickered following him, murmuring in a fake southern American accent he laid on way too strong, “Bring it on!”

Erik turned around at that with an exaggerated twirl, fixing an amused gaze back at him. When their eyes met they both broke out in resounding roars of laughter.

After their laughter had died down again – but they were both still grinning like loons – Charles rummaged in his kitchen drawer for a bottle opener, while Erik busied himself with ripping the cardboard from around the brown bottles. He took the opener Charles offered him and gave him an opened bottle in return.

Charles looked at the label. “Berliner Kindl,” he read with some difficulty.

“Das Beste.” Erik muttered, clinking their bottles together, his eyes fixed on Charles’s at the gesture, before he closed his lips around the bottle neck with a grin. He took two large swigs and made a content rumbling sound.

Encouraged by this blatant display of satisfaction and still a little confused about the intense gaze while clinking bottles, Charles took a sip as well. It was quite good. He definitely liked it.

They sat down in the living room with their beers and started playing. The first game Erik won, as if making good of his promise to kick Charles’s butt.

Although Charles was concentrating on their second game, his mind strayed to a nagging question he didn’t really know how to ask.

Finally he just couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer, “So, can I ask you something?”

“It’s going to be a question about my job, isn’t it?” Erik said calmly, still contemplating the board and his next move.

“Uh…” Charles mumbled uncertainly, feeling caught out.

“That’s usually how it goes for me, if someone starts a conversation with ‘Can I ask you something’.” Erik looked up at him and his stern, focused gaze broke into a warm smile. “It’s fine, Charles, ask away. I might decide not to answer a question, but you can always ask me.”

Charles liked that attitude. He’d always found that asking the question was somehow more important than having or getting an answer.

“Why do you do it?”

“To make money,” Erik said, looking a little puzzled by the question as if the answer should have been very much obvious.

“Let me rephrase that: Why do you do it, if you’re actually straight.”

“Ah,” Erik said in understanding, “It’s just a job. I can do it, so I do it.”

To Charles that seemed a little thin as answers went. “You don’t mind that you have sex with men?”

“Do you mind that I do?” Erik countered with a quiet challenge in his voice.

“No, of course not.”

“See? I don’t mind either.”

“But you could do other jobs.” Charles offered.

Erik stiffened minutely and Charles realised he had hit a nerve there. He got slightly panicked that he might have overstepped a line without realising it.

“I’m doing _this_ job though,” Erik muttered calmly with a hint of stubbornness. He raised an eyebrow at Charles and his eyes were surprisingly hard. “Are you trying to save me?”

“God, no!” Charles exclaimed hastily. He really wasn’t. “I’m just curious, Erik, that’s all. I’d like to understand you.” After a short pause he added, “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

Erik’s eyes searched his for a moment longer, which Charles found almost unbearable to stand. Erik seemed to make up his mind during that gaze and it finally settled into a warmer one. “I don’t do other jobs. I could, but I won’t.”

That settled the issue quite firmly. Charles didn’t really feel satisfied by this answer, but he decided to mull it over first before he asked anything else going into that same direction.

They went back to their game.

Half of their pieces had already been taken and it looked like this was going to be a longer game than any they had played before.

During the last half hour Erik had gradually started fidgeting and seemed to get restless and a little irritable.

“Everything ok?” Charles asked, without looking at him. The constant nervous movements were rubbing off on him and making him feel twitchy as well.

“Yeah. Why?” Erik asked and Charles looked up at him. He looked genuinely curious, as if he hadn’t even realised he was getting grumpy.

“You’re fidgeting and seem a little … er … in a bad mood, maybe?” Charles offered carefully. He wasn’t sure what had led to Erik’s slow mood swing, but he didn’t want to unknowingly escalate anything.

“Oh,” Erik said simply and seemed to mull it over. “I think I might be hungry,” he said after a moment. Charles found that a very peculiarly worded sentence. Who didn’t know they were hungry, if they were actually hungry? But ever the pragmatist, he smiled and got up from his hunched position on his armchair. “Well,” he nodded his head towards the kitchen, “let’s make something to eat then.”

“You don’t have to, if you’re not hungry.” Erik looked to the side for the blink of an eye and then at him directly. It seemed an unsure gesture to Charles. “I’m feeling peckish, too,” Charles said, walking into the kitchen.

Esra, a close work colleague of his, had given him a fabulous recipe for stuffed peppers, that he’d always wanted to try. Her recipe was an amalgamation of Turkish and Western cuisine, as she was half Turkish. Something that was officially referred to as someone with a “Migrationshintergrund” - a migratory background. Charles found that phrasing very odd, since she had been born here, but he had noticed that any conversation got awfully stilted when it came to race and ethnic background. He guessed it had everything to do with the Second World War. It was like Germans didn’t really know how to handle such subjects anymore and either tried to avoid them altogether, or make up weird expressions to avoid using certain words.

He contemplated that some more as he handed Erik the red peppers to wash and hollow out. They worked comfortably around each other in the tiny kitchen, occasionally bumping elbows or nearly stepping on each other’s toes, but it was all taken in stride with a grin or a short huff of laughter.

When it came to Charles putting all the ingredients together and stuffing the mixture into the hollowed-out peppers, Erik hovered close behind him, having no trouble, looking over his shoulder. Charles had the weird impression that he could almost physically feel that Erik was taller than him. Erik seemed to hover quite close, but never touching him. Charles felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise and goosebumps started to prickle down his back. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt more anticipatory.

“Do I make you nervous?” Erik asked. Charles could hear the playfully sly grin in his voice. He turned around, finding Erik suddenly even closer than he had thought.

“Er, I’m a little intimidated by you, if I’m perfectly honest,” Charles murmured truthfully, looking up at him. There was an indefinable tension between them, which was so palpable Charles could almost taste it on the back of his tongue.

“Aw, don’t be, I’m really a very nice guy actually.” The grin full of white teeth was not very encouraging to Charles at the moment.

“I need to, uh, put these in the oven,” Charles said and felt entirely stupid for saying so. Of course he needed to do that, the peppers wouldn’t cook themselves sitting in their dish on his kitchen counter. He turned back around quickly and realised that he needed a little more space than Erik left him with to bend down and arrange the dish in the oven.

Bending down in front of Erik. And why was he thinking that? His mind supplied him with cheesy, completely unrelated scenes about showers, burly guys and soap bars and Bloody Hell! What the heck was he thinking?! How _did_ his mind actually manage to be so damn cliché?

Looking over his shoulder quickly he saw Erik take a step back, leaning against the table, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a grin, giving Charles ample space to manoeuvre.

He is fucking straight! Charles chided himself, while handling the full dish and manhandling it onto the grill. His chastity was hardly on the line here. When he closed the oven and turned around he hoped he had firmly pulled his mind out of the gutter.

Erik had a weird expression on his face that looked simultaneously smug and rather strained. After a moment Charles realised Erik was trying very hard not to laugh. At Charles.

“You look a little flushed there, Charles.” Erik muttered innocently with a raised eyebrow, the contained grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dammit!

“Well, the oven’s on 200 degrees, so yeah, it’s a little hot,” Charles babbled lamely. Was this a strange kind of payback for their earlier conversation? Was Erik trying to make him feel uncomfortable on purpose? Must be, he decided. And in a way Charles could understand. He had clearly overstepped a line there somewhere.

They went back to their game, while they waited for the food to be ready.

It was already close to 11 when they finally ate. They sat opposite again at Charles’s tiny kitchen table and talked. Or more accurately, Charles talked about his job and Erik listened attentively, asking questions, but mainly listening to him talk.

When Erik excused himself to go out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette Charles quickly washed the dishes, letting the evening re-play in his head. Especially the thing with Erik being nervous in the beginning and then hovering so close to him when he’d put the food in the oven.

He didn’t really know what to make of that. Had it really been payback? Or something else? Was he reading too much into it, because maybe, secretly Charles wanted there to be more? What did that mean?

He rubbed his forehead in thought, smearing fluffy foam into his hair and rubbing it off angrily with a kitchen towel, when he noticed.

Before he could come up with a satisfying conclusion Erik came back, bringing with him a chilled waft of air and the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Absentmindedly Charles noticed that he liked that scent.

He’d never liked cigarettes before.

They played two more games of chess until it was close to four in the morning and Charles was ready to fall asleep where he sat. Erik on the other hand didn’t seem to be tired at all. He looked exhausted, but he didn’t seem to ever get tired. There was a curious kind of unrest about him.

“I think I’ll go home now,” Erik muttered with a warm smile, when Charles yawned and tried in vain to hide it.

“No, it’s ok, really,” muttered Charles.

Erik snorted, the fine lines around his eyes showing again. “I’m going home, Charles, you’re not really awake anymore. I’m sorry I’ve kept you up so long.”

“No, it’s ok. Really.” He only belatedly realised he had just said the same thing twice. “Ok,” he admitted rather sheepishly, “Maybe sleep is actually a good idea.”

Erik got up with a smirk and Charles followed him into the small corridor.

“How are you getting home? Shall I call a taxi?”

Shrugging into his jacket, Erik shook his head. “Nah, the trains run through on weekends.”

Charles actually knew this, he used them frequently himself after all, but his brain was just too sluggish to supply him with the right piece of information. God, he was knackered.

Erik smiled at him and waved once in good bye from one flight of steps down. Charles waved back and closed the door.

On his way through the kitchen to the living room, his gaze fell onto the kitchen counter. The thermos had gotten company. There were now six empty beer bottles arranged tidily next to it.

Erik.

xXx

Half a week passed where they lapsed back into their comfortable routine again until Charles realised that he was expected to be going out with his friends again on Thursday.

“Would you like to join us?” Charles asked after he had explained the arrangement his friends had come up with to Erik. The icy, early December wind was whipping around them.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Charles.” Erik replied evasively. At Charles’s crushed expression, Erik added conciliatorily, “But how about we meet up again for beer on Sunday?”

Charles thought about that for a moment, mentally skipping in his calendar. He had to get up quite early on the Monday after. If it was going to be a four o’clock in the morning marathon chess session again, then…

As if reading his thoughts, Erik muttered good-naturedly, “I don’t have to keep you up that long again.” He nudged Charles’s shoulder encouragingly with his own. It was a comfortable, natural gesture and Charles felt himself smile and agree.

xXx

When Erik arrived with his six pack of beer that Sunday he was completely relaxed. He strolled into Charles’s flat like he’d done the very first time he had been there. Charles thought it bode well for their friendship.

When he really looked at Erik though under the bright lights of his kitchen lamp, Charles noticed there was something not right with him. He had dark circles under his eyes and the desolate air around him seemed to have grown exponentially.

He wondered about that, but didn’t really know how to comment on it. Erik seemed in such a good mood right now despite everything else, that Charles didn’t really want to spoil it with his questions.

They decided not to play chess for a change, but watch a film that Esra had lent Charles with high recommendation.

They settled down on Charles’s couch with their beers, watching “Der Himmel über Berlin” by Wim Wenders with English subtitles for Charles. Charles was pleasantly surprised to see a young Bruno Ganz perform. He only knew him from his role as Hitler in “Downfall” and he had been very impressed back then. This was something completely different however and he understood why Esra had such high praise for the film.

Erik grew more and more enthusiastic, the desolate mood evaporating completely like thin smoke, as the film progressed, pointing at houses and street names and telling Charles little things about when he had grown up in West Berlin. Charles would stop the film and listen with a wide smile. He was very aware that this was the first time Erik really told him something about himself.

“See? There? That’s actually what Potsdamer Platz looked like, before the Sony Center and DB Building were built,” Erik explained, his hands doing as much talking as he himself. “It was just this empty space of grass in the middle of the city.” Erik twirled his fingers in the air. “You’d come out from the U-Bahn station and there was nothing but a street and high grass and the Wall of course. I remember that the circus used that empty space for their shows. I loved that as a child.”

When Erik was finished with his small snippet of a story they would continue until he found something else to comment on.

Erik did ask if it was annoying to Charles, that they had to interrupt the film so often, but Charles just grinned and shook his head, bumping their shoulders in bloke-ish camaraderie. He very much liked listening to Erik. He found these moments strangely precious.

“As a small child I found it odd, that when we travelled we would cross the Berlin border and be in a different country and still they would speak German exactly like we did. To me it was more logical that people would speak a different language, because they were from a different country, you know like France or Denmark or something. That was very confusing and I needed a long time to really understand that there were two Germanys.” Erik snorted at his own child’s logic and took another swig from his bottle, pressing the play button again.

After the film had ended, Erik still seemed deep in memories, slightly disjointed. “You know you could walk up to the wall from this side. I remember that some of the U-Bahn stations were actually bricked up or eerily dark and the train would crawl along the tracks, not stopping, because the line would cross into the East underground for a while. You couldn’t get off on those stations, and of course there were GDR soldiers sometimes making sure no one from the East tried to hitch a ride into the West,” Erik reminisced. “I always found that a bit scary as a child.”

Charles frowned. Where were his parents in all this? Only looking back now did he realise Erik had mentioned them not even once. Somehow that felt odd, but he didn’t dare ask and break the comfortable atmosphere between them.

They sat together silently, finishing their beers.

“I’ll be heading home in a few,” Erik announced, letting the last foamy swig drip into his mouth and grinned. “You need your beauty sleep.”

“I don’t think sleep will help much. It’s genetics, really,” Charles murmured with a shrug. He was under no illusion how he looked. He liked himself well enough, but he was not what anyone would call conventionally beautiful. He had his charms to work for him, and for the ladies it always had worked, but not beauty. And because he was sitting so much at his work and he still hadn’t managed to go to the gym, he had developed a small paunch.

He gave his empty beer bottle a reproachful look. Maybe it was more like a beer belly then. Charles noticed Erik shooting him a look edged in a slight frown. Erik looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to decide against it, instead taking the empty bottle from Charles and bringing them both into the kitchen.

Charles followed, watching Erik arrange the bottles neatly on his kitchen counter like last time next to the thermos.

Meticulous, Charles thought. Maybe a _tad_ OCD. But then, maybe not. Maybe this was a German thing. Charles smiled to himself, because he somehow found that natural, unthinking tidiness a little bit endearing.

“Well, thanks for the film,” Erik said politely, as he stood in Charles’s corridor, ready to go.

“Thanks for the company,” Charles replied pleasantly.

“Well, yeah…” Erik muttered, shrugging, his hand fluttering up to scratch his shoulder in a subconscious gesture.

Charles grinned and Erik grinned back, but as soon as Erik stepped out of Charles’s flat, he seemed to slightly hunch and fall in on himself. The metaphorical dark cloud was instantly over him again.

Charles closed the door and leaned against it, trying to figure out a way to ask about that next time he saw Erik. Were they close enough as friends for him to ask that?

He didn’t know.

xXx

The week after that Sunday was forecast to get colder with temperatures coming very close to the minus 20 degree mark again.

Charles brought Erik tea every night around midnight. He found him at his corner every time.

Charles was wondering about that. Either Charles was particularly lucky to always find him there, or Erik was actually waiting for him, since Charles tried his best to be relatively punctual every evening. Charles secretly preferred the latter. However there was a third option: business was getting worse for Erik.

The last thought worried Charles as the nights got increasingly colder. This feeling was undefined and blurry, but it was definitely worry and he wondered if it was heightened even more by the exhausted and tired aura that hung around Erik like a heavy wet cloak.

“You make the best tea,” Erik murmured contentedly once, holding the cup between frost-red fingers, blowing the warm steam onto them.

“Thanks,” Charles answered and felt unnecessarily proud about that compliment. It was just tea, after all.

He never managed to ask about Erik’s desolate mood, because it always brightened, when Charles saw him and he didn’t want to change that. He had the creeping suspicion, he should really address this, but in a way he was too afraid to change things between them. He liked it when Erik smiled. And Erik always smiled, when he saw Charles.

Why change a good thing, right?

xXx

“They said it’s going to drop to minus 22 today. Come home with me,” Charles offered with a friendly smile one night.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Erik muttered between chattering teeth and bluish lips, “I really have to work.”

“I’ll pay, if you need the money,” Charles answered. Strong north-eastern winds were blowing in freezing air from Russia and Scandinavia. Charles had never experienced cold like this before. It blew through any type of clothing straight into your bones and seemed to clamp its icy claws around any warmth in your body.

“You can’t always pay for that, Charles!” Erik barked suddenly. Charles was momentarily taken aback by this strong reaction.

“Yes, I can. C’mon.” Charles’s tone was urgent. He wanted to get them both out of the cold.

“No!” Erik yelled, anger making colour return to his sallow cheeks. His hands shook, the red fingers reminding Charles of stiff pieces of frozen spare ribs. This was stupid. Not to mention dangerous.

“I am going to stand here all night, if I have to and scare away everyone else!” Charles warned, feeling helpless at so much stupid pigheadedness. Fine, let Erik be like this, he could be stubborn, too. They would both stand here and freeze and Charles thought he knew Erik well enough to know, that Erik would feel guilty about that. And this guilt would send him into Charles’s warm flat hopefully.

Erik’s hands balled to fists for a moment and his whole body tensed.

Charles suddenly wasn’t sure Erik might actually deck him one. Erik twitched oddly, but then he lowered his head, gritting his teeth to prevent them from chattering and pulled his shoulders up against the biting wind.

“No, Charles,” he muttered stubbornly, obviously forcing himself to be calm.

“Ok,” Charles conceded. This tactic was apparently not working anymore. “Then at least come up to mine for two hours to warm up. You’re fucking freezing to death here.”

Erik’s frown darkened for a moment, but then he nodded reluctantly. Charles had the feeling he was trying to get rid of him. Well, Erik would need to warm up for two hours, for Charles to leave him alone, Charles decided grimly.

The wind was icy and cutting. Erik walked stiffly next to Charles to the flat, keeping space between them, the wind howling through the gap between their two bodies. Charles found it ironically fitting, but also felt a sad twinge about it. They didn’t talk on the way to Charles’s flat.

Inside Charles couldn’t hold back his frustration any longer. “Why’s this so difficult all of a sudden?” he groaned.

“I don’t want your money,” Erik said with a stony expression. His shoulders tensed visibly again.

“So, because you’ve been here without me paying for it, you now don’t want to take money from me? Money, I’m freely offering to you?” Charles cringed at his own incredulous, accusatory tone.

“No. Just no.” Erik’s tone didn’t change. It was cold and monotone and tense.

“Maybe we should never have met up outside of your,” Charles made air quotes with a menacing eye-roll, “ _job_.” He regretted it instantly.

“Maybe we really shouldn’t have,” Erik murmured between gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with contained anger, “I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning,” he said, a small, cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Charles tried not to feel even more annoyed and rankled by that. He subconsciously widened his stance, broadening his shoulders. “Oh yeah?” he sneered.

“Yeah,” Erik answered simply without any inflection, but his shoulders were hunched like he was expecting to have to throw a punch - or deflect one.

Charles forcefully relaxed and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was going nowhere like this, but end in a real fight, and he really didn’t want that. He was very much appalled at himself. There were so many angry comments bubbling to the surface now. All of them hurtful and bitter.

“Tea?” he asked instead of uttering any of them.

Erik looked taken aback by the sudden change of topic, but considered it. He scratched his right shoulder in a subconscious gesture, seeming suddenly more slender, less threatening, clearly pondering to just grab his jacket and leave, but then he nodded stiffly. Charles expelled a breath and nodded, too, more to himself though, before he lead the way to his tiny kitchen.

“Why are you so desperate to work, that you’d kill yourself over it?” Charles asked a little calmer, once they were inside his kitchen and Charles had put the kettle on.

“Because I’m about to lose my flat, you ass!” Erik suddenly shouted wildly. His eyes widened and he looked shocked. He had obviously not meant to reveal that.

Charles’s eyes went wide. “Why won’t you let me pay you then?” he asked, his irritation returning, cresting like a wave.

“I’m not going to take your money!” Erik hissed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, drawing himself up a little.

Stupid, proud idiot, Charles thought, infuriated. He waited a moment before he said anything else to calm himself down again. This was already on the edge of escalating again. He expelled his breath slowly, then asked, “What about friends? Family? Parents? Aren’t they going to help?”

“I want nothing to do with them, ok?!” Erik’s voice was shrill, but oddly calm. It made Charles stop. There was something there apparently. He had just kicked the proverbial wasp’s nest. And kicked it hard.

“What happened?” Charles suddenly didn’t care about sensibilities or if he was crossing a line anymore.

“As if you really care!” Erik spat the words at him, clearly trying to put distance between them, trying to discourage Charles.

“I do care, Erik. I really do.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me!” Erik shouted, taking a step back. “I know how it looks from your end: The poor prostitute needs someone to rescue him.” Changing tactics, Erik suddenly leapt forward, pushing his whole bulk against Charles, trapping him against the kitchen counter. Charles heard the thermos clatter behind him as it fell. He felt the rounded edge of the counter dig into his lower spine with a dull pain. Erik pulled his taller body up over Charles’s with clearly brutal intent, placing his hands either side of Charles. “ _Pretty Woman_ just with guys. Does that get you off?” Erik hissed darkly, pressing his hips forcefully, painfully against Charles’s. Charles suppressed a wince. Despite the gesture that was smouldering with barely contained violence and the harsh words directed at him, Charles felt calm. Somehow he knew Erik would never cross that line.

Charles just looked up at Erik, catching his gaze. “No, Erik, I don’t want to rescue you, because frankly I don’t think you need rescuing.”

Erik suddenly staggered back at that as if Charles had actually shoved him away.

“You can only do that yourself,” Charles continued calmly, “But I want to help, because I do care.”

Erik’s hands shook as he let them trail through his hair, unsteady, breath escaping on a shaken gasp. He looked as if he was deeply shocked at himself. He just stood forlornly in the middle of Charles’s kitchen, shaking, avoiding to look at him.

After a moment in which Charles decided that the weirdly dangerous atmosphere had now dissipated completely and that Erik was not going to attack him, Charles wordlessly got two wine glasses and opened a bottle of red. He wasn’t entirely sure alcohol was a good idea now, but they needed to talk about this. Erik owed it to him, Charles decided.

After he had poured a liberal amount into the glasses he handed one to Erik and motioned for him to go and sit down on the couch in the living room. Erik followed his gesture mutely, hanging his head, shoulders hunched, his spine ramrod straight.

They sat down, Erik facing forwards, hands stiff around the glass, not looking at him. Charles was turned towards him, one leg tugged underneath him. Erik emptied his glass quickly and Charles refilled it quietly, just waiting for him to be ready to speak. After the third glass Erik relaxed forcefully with a long exhaled breath, rolling his shoulders.

“I think I’m suffering from depression.”

Charles’s brows actually shot up at that. There were a lot of things he had suspected, but he would never have guessed that. Erik seemed to always be in a relatively good mood when they had spoken.

As if anticipating Charles’s disbelief, or maybe, because he had seen reactions like it before, Erik smiled bitterly, explaining, “It doesn’t mean I run around feeling constantly down or anything. There was just one morning I couldn’t get out of bed because of it. I just couldn’t. There was no impulse left in me to do anything, I just didn’t care anymore. I’m not suicidal, if you were wondering. I just didn’t have any inkling to do anything. Everything became an effort. In the end I lost my job because of it. So I work as a prostitute now to at least keep my flat.”

“But Germany is known for its good support system, why didn’t you sign on with the… the… what’s it called?”

“JobCenter,” Erik snorted angrily. “I just, I don’t know, I couldn’t face that. I’d let so many people down already … Magda and… and people I love and… It was too much of an effort. All those documents you have to fill out to apply and the people there you have to face and - I don’t know - I just don’t have the energy to do that. I just don’t have enough strength left to do that. This,” he let a hand sweep over his body as if it was the embodiment of prostitution, “seemed so much easier.”

“Ok,” Charles said, because he really didn’t know how else to reply to that. “And your family? Parents?” he asked carefully, fully expecting Erik to be instantly in his face again. But he just sat there, seeming to sink even more in on himself becoming a picture of complete misery.

Erik opened his mouth to talk, then stopped like he couldn’t really figure out where to start until he sighed tiredly and finally started to speak, “I’m Jewish. I don’t know if you know, but it’s kind of taboo to be gay when you’re a Jew.”

Charles just looked at him, not knowing where this was going, Erik had said he was straight after all, so he tried to look encouraging and just listen. There wasn’t anything else he could do.

“My dad finally admitted he was gay when I was about 5. He left my mom and me when I was 11 after years and years of fighting and misery. My mother loathed him by then. Actually _loathed_ my dad. She comes from a more orthodox family and because of him she really hates gay people. She always instilled in me to never become like my dad, but insisted at the same time that I’m very much like him. I dunno, it was…it was…” Erik took a deep breath. “It was so confusing and hitting puberty I thought, maybe I am exactly like him, you know? And she’d loathe me too.” He looked at Charles then, those blue eyes warring with disgust at himself and still pleading for Charles to understand his meaning without him actually having to say it out loud. Charles suddenly understood perfectly and nodded. So Erik wasn’t straight, but he apparently would very much like to be.

“She re-married. Klaus. The most conservative fucker, I’ve ever known. He was really old-school, you know? ‘Sleeping with your hands strictly kept above your duvet’ and so on, not touching other guys at all in any way. And he –,” Erik suddenly broke off, a strangled cough that sounded suspiciously like a sob, ripped from his throat. He shuddered in revulsion, trying to catch his breath. Charles wanted to follow his instinct to squeeze Erik’s shoulder, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch him. Charles really wanted to, wanted to show his support, wanted to show him that it was ok, that he cared, but he wasn’t sure he was welcome to.

Erik continued in a bland monotone, “He would always supervise me. During homework, when I had friends over, in the evenings, taking – taking showers even.” He swallowed convulsively again. “He would just stand there and I had to undress in front of him and shower.”

Charles had to forcibly suppress a shocked gasp at that to not interrupt Erik’s desolate flow of words. He felt his insides twist and a weight drop into the pit of his stomach. The hand around his wine glass had started to shake uncontrollably without him being able to still it.

“I was only allowed to soap up for so long, you know,” Erik laughed tonelessly, it sounded rehearsed, “clearly measured time in which I was allowed to touch my own body and he would always look. Every evening I had to shower. He would always look at me and it was - it was… He would always look,” Erik whispered helplessly. He looked like he wanted to cry, but there was surprisingly little emotion coming to the surface, besides the deep-rooted disgust and revulsion at himself and his step-father. Even these emotions seemed blunted.

That was typical for depression, Charles thought weirdly detached for a moment. Now he knew what to look for, it was blatant, this absence of deeper emotion. He had always noticed it, but up until now he had never been able to put a finger on it, because Erik had always smiled so easily.

“I felt so disgusted.” Erik shuddered. “He would always look at me. He never touched me, but it felt like he was. And my mom had always warned me about other boys, but never about him.” Erik took another gulp of wine. “Looking back I know and understand that Klaus is probably a paedophile. I was 12 then and now I’m 32 and I still feel, God, I feel so disgusted and I hate myself and I hate what I do, but I’m also ok with it in a strange way, you know? It’s like these two equally strong forces are pulling at me and I’m just hanging numb in the middle, and I don’t care anymore and if I don’t pull myself together I might lose my flat, too, because it’s just too damn cold for enough clients to come to me and I’m too old anyway and I hate this! Why do I have to be so fucked up?” The words were clearly angry, but there was little emotion. It was like Erik was retelling a story of another person and it cut Charles in a way he had never felt before. This absence of emotion was eerily wrong and Charles felt helpless.

Utterly, desolately helpless. What could he do in the face of so much misery?

Charles suddenly could not take it anymore, he just lunged forward and pulled Erik into a crushing embrace, pulling him as close to his body as he could, stopping anything more Erik might have said.

Whether his hug was originally an impulse to calm Erik or himself, Charles was not entirely sure. He just needed the contact, needed to connect somehow, physically, tactilely, in any way, because emotionally it was not possible.

Erik stopped all movement abruptly and stiffened slightly. He didn’t even breathe, but he let Charles cradle him, not moving a muscle at all. Slowly he relaxed a little into the embrace, exhaling slowly, shuddering a little.

The mood slowly shifted like air pressure rising. Charles noticed it as a prickle on the back of his neck. He felt his muscles tense in anticipation.

Then, tentatively, Charles felt dry lips brush along the underside of his jaw, the wetness of a shy tongue, wet skin catching on his just barely there stubble.

Charles froze, his heart in his throat.

For a moment neither moved, Erik’s breath hot against the underside of Charles’s chin.

Charles exhaled a quivering breath, not releasing his hold of Erik. He just couldn’t let him go.

As if a dam broke, Erik suddenly pushed against him, almost flinging Charles back into the cushions of his couch. With a desperate huff of breath Erik urgently pushed one of Charles’s knees to the side, sinking between his legs, shuddering minutely as his body finally covered Charles’s in its entire length, just laying on top of him. Erik’s breath came in harsh pants, smelling of wine and exploding in a staccato rhythm over Charles’s face.

Charles’s mind was completely blank for a moment, his breath stuck in his throat. He could feel the muscles move underneath Erik’s skin where they touched and it felt entirely masculine. And God… He really _liked_ that.

Charles felt the rush of sudden arousal, the light-headedness and the persuasive tightening between his legs. He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, gulping in a breath. It morphed into a breathy whimper, as Erik hesitantly bowed his back, pushing his groin slowly, but hard against Charles’s with a helpless shudder.

Their faces were not even an inch apart, Erik’s weight pressing him into the couch, but his pleading gaze holding Charles there as effectively. “I’ll stop if you say no,” Erik murmured brokenly. “Say no.”

Charles wasn’t sure if Erik only repeated the last part of that sentence, or if he actually wanted him to say no. But Charles wanted Erik, wanted him close, _needed_ him close, so he said nothing. He just pulled Erik’s face towards his, caressing his cheek with his own, stubble catching on stubble. It made a small, curious sound.

Pushing his hips tentatively against Charles’s again, Erik sobbed quietly. He buried his face in Charles’s neck, trembling.

Charles let his hands travel in sync over the back of Erik’s neck, down over hunched shoulder blades, over cords of muscles straining and flexing under the skin, as his hands stroked lower, finally just coming to rest on Erik’s arse cheeks, each under one hand. Then Charles pushed down hard with both hands, felt the muscles under his fingers contract reflexively and moaned, his eyes snapping shut as his action pushed their groins together.

When Charles opened his eyes again Erik looked at him, frozen in shock, but with an expression of total amazement and such longing on his face, that Charles couldn’t help but whimper and make a soft, pleading sound, grabbing both of Erik’s arse cheeks roughly and pushing again, staring at him. This time Charles rolled his hips to meet the thrust and create more friction, his eyes never wavering from Erik’s face.

Erik’s eyes squeezed shut and a hoarse, ragged pant was pushed from his parted lips. He groaned as Charles repeated the movement, bucking up harder each time.

“Charles, ich…” Erik whispered roughly, dropping his head forwards onto Charles’s still clothed chest, panting.

“Yes,” Charles answered, although he didn’t really know what he was agreeing to, but he wanted it regardless.

Erik slid back a little, which decreased the friction and made Charles whimper in disappointment over the loss, but Erik shoved both hands under Charles’s sweater and under shirt, rucking them up in one rough sweep under Charles’s armpits and leaned down towards the exposed skin and just breathed. Charles groaned deeply, sliding both his hands in Erik’s hair. Erik shivered.

Charles felt Erik’s nose brush over his belly and had the urge to suck in his breath to flatten the little paunch of his stomach. But before he could Erik groaned lowly, appreciatively, letting his nose trail through the hair of Charles’s treasure trail in a small circle and then upwards, followed by the feeling of rough stubble from Erik’s cheek over Charles’s sternum, as Erik turned his head. Charles couldn’t contain a small whimper that bled into a panting moan.

Erik just brushed his cheek against Charles’s skin repeatedly, from his belly to his chest, his breaths harsh, inhaling loudly through his mouth. It was as if Erik tried to taste Charles’s scent, Charles thought for a moment, until he felt the wet slickness of a tongue. Then he didn’t think anymore and just succumbed to the feeling of Erik kissing and licking his skin.

Charles groaned and panted Erik’s name, encouraging obscenities and little sounds that had no meaning. Charles felt the textures of different types of skin rub against his own, some moist and soft, others dry and rough, some supple, but always rubbing, catching, sliding. Wet-hot breaths heating his skin, the clinging moisture cooling it instantly, making Charles’s nerves sear.

And Erik hadn’t even touched anything else besides his stomach and chest yet.

Charles shuddered at the thought of any part of Erik touching him anywhere else. His back snapped taught involuntarily, bowing, pushing himself against Erik, his spine slowly tensing, and he was so hard it bordered on painful.

Charles groaned, helplessly swept away by this onslaught between fantasy and reality, felt his fingers tangle in Erik’s hair, pulling and pushing, probably not very gently. Erik just groaned, surging upwards, burying his face in his neck again, rutting against him, every thrust jolting him under Erik further up the sofa. Yes, that’s it, Charles thought deliriously. There was that delicious pressure and friction once more that Charles craved beyond anything else.

“Close?” Erik whispered harshly into his ear.

“Yes,” Charles gasped, his breath catching in his throat, as Erik thrust their clothed cocks harder against each other.

The smell of wine from their breath mingled with the scent of fresh sweat. It was an intoxicating mixture, one which Charles tried to breathe in as deeply as he could, compelling it to stay in his memory forever.

“Erik,” he pleaded, bucking up his hips. “Please, please just….” He didn’t really know what he wanted, what he needed. Just more. More friction, more pressure, more touch, more closeness. Closeness most of all.

Erik groaned at his tone, his eyes snapping shut and he started to quiver and shake and he made a small, pleading sound. One of Erik’s hands shot between their bodies, frantically worming its way into Erik’s own trousers, grabbing and squeezing. It took Charles a moment to realise Erik was on the verge of coming, but was forcefully staving it off.

He had nearly pushed Erik over the edge. His voice. Him.

Charles moaned wantonly, heady with pleasure and the realisation how much he affected Erik.

Erik panted and gritted his teeth, hips tensely still, his forehead scrunched up in concentration.

“Erik,” Charles whispered again, bucking up into him. He was so close. Erik’s answering moan sounded strangled, holding back. One hand still inside his trousers grabbing hard around the base of his cock, Erik’s other arm clamped around Charles, holding him still. Erik hid his face in the crook of Charles’s neck, his body heaving in tiny shocks and deeply gulped down breaths.

Charles could feel the hand trapped between their groins and he so longed for Erik to touch him, to make him come, it was like a physical ache. His toes were already curling, his calf muscles quivering. He needed desperately to come. He needed _Erik_ to make him come.

Charles whimpered lowly, his hips rocking against Erik’s in tiny increments, as much as his weight allowed. Erik pushed harder against him with a muffled grunt, stilling any movement. Charles felt oddly lightheaded at this feeling of helpless entrapment. He gasped in a ragged breath at the realisation that Erik could easily overpower him. And Charles would let him.

Erik’s head lifted from where Charles’s neck sloped into his shoulder and he looked at Charles. His face was flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Their faces were so close Erik’s eyes darted between Charles’s repeatedly. Left and right, left and right, their expression unreadable.

When Charles breathed in, he inhaled part of Erik’s moist, expelled breath and this simple gesture felt so utterly personal and close he whimpered softly. He tried inhaling deeper, following Erik’s breaths to their source, leaning upwards.

Charles’s lips touched Erik’s as he inhaled again, just his upper lip ghosting against Erik’s. It wasn’t really a kiss, but Erik closed his eyes and shuddered anyway. He mewled so quietly Charles almost didn’t hear, but he felt the breath that had produced the sound wash over his lips.

Charles shoved one hand up Erik’s neck into his hair and pulled softly. More a suggestion than a push. But Erik’s lips opened and he leaned down, brushing his lower lip against Charles’s upper one. The dry part was slightly chapped and rough and the wet parts caught against each other, sticky and then sliding with saliva. Erik moaned his name quietly, almost reverently, his tongue shyly dipping into Charles’s mouth, slipping wet and slick against his own.

They kissed like this, never stopping, one kiss sliding over seamlessly into the next. Again and again. Slow and unhurried and Charles’s urgent want levelled out to a calmer, but not less searing pool of emotion, lust and pleasure. He felt himself calm into a state of thrumming, content arousal. He was still very much turned on, hot shivers running like rivulets of warm water up and down his spine. He was still hard and wanting. So was Erik judging from the prominent bulge pressed against Charles’s still clothed erection. Their hips shifted lazily against each other, like their tongues slid against each other.

Erik let his lips slowly wander over Charles’s face and down his chin to his neck, snuffling into his skin between soft breathy moans. When his lips brushed against the side of Charles’s neck, Charles suddenly bucked up hard against Erik with a choked groan, as a searing wave of arousal shot to his cock and bloomed up his spine in sizzling waves, searing heat instantly obliterating the warm water arousal of before. His breath hitched sharply as he pulled at Erik’s shirt. He could feel Erik’s lips pull back from his teeth in a smile before he nipped against the skin.

“You’re cruel,” Charles almost whined, bucking up helplessly. “I _need_ … want….”

“What?” Erik breathed gently against his neck. Charles shivered at the moist sound ghosting across the sensitive skin.

“I don’t know…. What we did … or… I don’t know… just something, just -” The rest was swallowed up in a deep, heartfelt groan, as Erik laved the side of his neck again, gently biting and sucking.

His bites and nips wandered lower, amidst Charles’s soft moans and hitched breaths, over the bunched up fabric of Charles’s shirt and sweater and down his chest, detouring to his left nipple, leaving it wet, the moisture slowly cooling and then lower still, until Charles could feel the cold tip of Erik’s nose buried again in the hair of his treasure trail.

Erik stopped, breathing harshly, then swallowing. “Lass mich,” he croaked and swallowed again between pants, “Can I..?”

Charles looked down his body and it took his addled brain a moment to catch up and understand what Erik wanted.

“Fuck, Erik. God. Yes _please_!” Charles swore, letting his head drop back into the cushions as he felt those elegantly long fingers hurriedly undo the buttons and fly of his trousers.

It was an intense relief, when his cock was finally freed from his too tight trousers. Charles whimpered Erik’s name helplessly turned on and heard a low answering rumble from between his legs, just before hot lips caressed wetly over the sensitive skin of his cock and Erik’s tongue glided up the underside.

Charles gulped in breaths hurriedly, almost choking on them. He flung both arms over his head, spine tensing and curving, clawing his fingers into the cushions of the sofa either side of his head to keep himself still. He still squirmed a little, apologising and cursing in equal measure, but Erik just hummed contentedly, kissing and licking in teasing swipes, one hand cradled gently around Charles’s balls, the other stroking tickling patterns over his belly, playing with the coarse hair leading down to his cock.

“Erik,” Charles whimpered trying desperately to keep still and stop the uncontrollable writhing of his hips as Erik suddenly engulfed his cock whole with a breathy, relishing grunt.

Charles was unprepared for how quick his orgasm hit him. It just took a few times of Erik hollowing his cheeks in deep sucks and those breathy appreciative sounds he made to hurl Charles over the edge.

His spine tensed, toes curling sharply and he pushed at Erik’s head in warning with a hitching moan and came. Erik let go of his cock just before with a wet sloppy sound and stroked him, nuzzling the underside and his balls, kissing and nibbling softly as Charles spurted over his belly, shuddering and moaning Erik’s name.

Charles couldn’t really keep his hips from bucking up once and his thighs from trembling and closing around Erik’s shoulders reflexively. Erik just grabbed his upper thigh with one hand, never letting go of Charles’s balls with the other and kissed the trembling muscles as he prised Charles’s legs a little more apart to not get trapped. He hummed against the skin and Charles whimpered, his hips jerking feebly in aftershocks.

Erik slowly leaned over, his lips grazing from the middle of Charles’s thigh upwards to his hip bones, up and over the side of his stomach.

Charles looked at him through heavy lidded eyes. He knew he really should reciprocate and God, he really wanted to, but he needed a little time to get his breath back. That had been so surprisingly intense. “Gimme a minute,” he slurred, brushing his hand sloppily through Erik’s hair.

Erik just moaned softly, never stopping to brush his lips over skin that was not splattered with cum. Charles noticed absentmindedly that Erik was careful not to get any on his lips, but didn’t seem to have any such reservations about getting any on his face, as he laid his head sideways down on Charles’s belly, deeply inhaling breaths with a soft shudder in the sound.

When Charles disentangled his hand from Erik’s hair to move and get Erik off somehow, Erik just grabbed his hand sharply and put it back on his head, before his hand snaked downwards, between his own legs, starting to stroke.

Charles looked at him for a moment, not entirely sure what Erik wanted. But when he saw Erik closing his eyes in bliss as Charles curled his fingers in his hair, blunt nails scratching softly against Erik’s scalp, he just leaned back a bit, opening his thighs wider, his hand combing endless circles on Erik’s head.

Erik snuffled a muffled grunt against his belly as he hitched himself up a little more on Charles’s stomach bringing more of his still completely clothed body in contact with Charles, almost snuggling into him. Erik braced his weight with one arm, his other hand stroking his cock slowly. His upper body lay warm and comfortingly heavy between Charles’s legs without crushing him, Charles’s soft cock and balls nestled gently against Erik’s upper chest and his naked throat.

It felt close and intimate and Charles really liked that feeling. He sighed, his hand endlessly stroking, twining around short strands of hair.

Erik’s breaths became gradually harsher, the soft snuffling sounds morphing slowly into ragged moans as his hand sped up with every circle Charles’s fingers drew through his hair.

Erik slowly tensed, shoulder muscles working frantically, bumping against Charles’s inner thigh, as he jerked himself off, head lying on Charles’s stomach, mouth open against the skin. His breath washed in moist waves over Charles’s skin, becoming harsher and harsher, until Erik stopped breathing altogether, tensing, all his muscles seizing against Charles’s body.  
The almost noiseless, timid moan Charles could hear and feel against his navel was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

They lay unmoving, Charles still combing his fingers through Erik’s short hair, while Erik’s breath slowly calmed. He rubbed his nose once against Charles’s belly before he looked up at him.

There was a little cum smeared on Erik’s right cheek, from where he had lain on Charles’s stomach. Charles shivered at the luxurious memory, stroking a hand over Erik’s cheek. He would not offer for Erik to take a shower. It would not be welcomed. With good reason, Charles felt.

Erik leaned into the caress for a moment, then turned his head away, rubbing at the stickiness on his cheek, sitting up. He just folded his hands in his lap, elbows on his thighs, leaning onto them, staring at his fingers.

Charles felt oddly vulnerable and exposed in an oddly emotional way. He quickly tucked his spent cock away and zipped up, getting decent again. He was aware how psychologically telling this gesture was. He didn’t care.

Charles looked at Erik’s bowed back, the tension there. “Uhm, would you like a coffee?” Charles asked and cringed. _Stupid! It’s only as awkward as you make it. And you’ve just made it very awkward…_ , he thought self-deprecatingly.

Erik nodded and then cleared his throat. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” His voice was oddly colourless.

At least now Charles had something to do. He went into the kitchen. Erik followed him a moment later, stopping in the door to the kitchen, looking lost.

There were small stains on Erik’s shirt as well from where he had lain between Charles’s legs, getting himself off over the smell of Charles’s skin and the simple touch of fingers through his hair, Charles remembered with a hot quiver. Charles suppressed a moan. He wanted to touch Erik again, touch the stains, make them feel as real as he knew how, step closer, follow the gesture of his hand, tilt his head and kiss Erik again like they had done before, unhurried and wet and utterly devastating. But the way Erik stood there in the entrance to Charles’s kitchen, with his arms folded over his chest and his shoulders slightly hunched he didn’t look like he wanted to be approached. So Charles held back and held onto the memory of kissing him.

“Would you like to pop your stuff into the wash? I’ve a dryer, too, so they’ll be clean and dry again in a couple of hours.”

Erik nodded, but didn’t make a move. He looked around at the floor, as if he was looking for a suitable place to divest himself of his clothes without doing it in the middle of the kitchen. Not that Erik hadn’t done that before, Charles thought, thinking back to when Erik had been hurt. It seemed like a lifetime ago, like his life had tilted on its axis and now he was here, the same man, in company of the same Erik and yet all was different. And it didn’t feel particularly nice or comforting.

Erik stood there for a moment longer, then stepped away from the door frame and wandered down the corridor to the small bathroom.

Charles heard the noises of the cover of the washing machine being opened and closed, the faucet splattering water into the sink. So Erik was washing his face probably, Charles thought, washing Charles’s cum off his face and where it had stuck his shirt to his chest.

Standing at his kitchen counter, pouring coffee into two mugs, Charles suddenly felt very lonely. He looked at the two mugs and the milk slowly swirling the beverage to caramel-brown. His gaze strayed to the thermos that was still lying on its side where it had fallen over as Erik had pressed him into the kitchen counter earlier this night. Charles righted it and felt a little better.

He took the two mugs into the living room and waited for Erik.

He stepped into the room in Charles’s dark grey bathrobe and his socks, flopping down next to Charles on the sofa gracelessly. Charles handed him a mug and Erik took it, a small, ironic smile creeping over his face, but it was a smile nonetheless. “This is a little awkward,” Erik admitted, taking a sip instead of looking at Charles.

“Gosh, it is, isn’t it?” Charles wholeheartedly agreed. Erik nodded with a snort, his gaze shifting to the side, looking at Charles from the corner of his eyes.

“Erik?” Charles asked hesitantly after a moment, cradling the mug between his hands, staring at the milky coffee inside, “Can I touch you?”

Erik’s head whipped around at that, looking confused and a little sad. “Of course,” he said, baffled, “You’ve touched me before. I mean, you’ve given me a massage and all and we’ve just had sex, so, what makes you think that -”

“No, Erik, I mean, really touch you… and get close… and you know…care, too.” Charles swallowed around the lump in his throat. The moment seemed to stretch into the unbearable the longer Erik didn’t say anything.

No ‘this is ok’. No ‘we’re still alright’.

Then a heavy arm snaked around Charles’s shoulders in a decidedly lad-ish gesture, pulling him against Erik’s side with a gruff sound. The gesture only slowly, reluctantly bled into something else entirely the more both men relaxed against each other, until it was very close to cuddling, but Charles refused to acknowledge it and Erik seemed happy to not comment either.

In the end they ended up in Charles’s bed, Charles curled around Erik, his hand in his hair and Erik snuffling into Charles’s neck, one hand stroking Charles’s stomach.

When Charles was woken by his alarm the next morning Erik was gone. At first Charles didn’t really think anything by it, as Erik had always left when he wanted to and of course was free to do so, but when he stepped out into his empty living room and the smell of faint, cold cigarette smoke was absent a bad feeling slowly started to set in.

xXx

Erik was not at his corner that night. Or the night after.

Raven called on the third day to arrange them meeting up for Christmas and New Year. She wanted to come around and visit him, because she had never been to Berlin.

He didn’t tell her anything, but she seemed to pick up on his anxiousness anyway, asking repeatedly if he was alright. He said yes every time. And it was always a lie.

Charles tried everything he could think of to get in contact with Erik. During the first week he went down to the corner every night at around twelve with hot tea in the thermos flask.

He ended up always drinking it alone.

He left a note taped to the wall of the house, asking Erik to either just ring his doorbell or write him a message or anything to let Charles know he was alright.

Nothing ever came of it.

After that week he finally stood in front of a police department. But what was he supposed to report? A prostitute abandoned me and no, I don’t know his full name?

He had turned away, walking home, passing Erik’s corner with stinging eyes and cramping stomach.

Charles felt incredibly guilty. It ate at his insides, making his gut twist and turn.

He had bloody well known Erik had a problem with his sexuality, Erik had fucking told him that, and how could he have exploited that so carelessly for his own gain?

Charles had wanted him so desperately, it had burned any reason from his mind. But now reason and logic seeped back in with quiet malice.

Erik had opened up to him and he had just taken that trust and twisted it on Erik in the very same night. Charles had not even waited a day. No, he had abused his trust and goddammit, he’d had sex with a man, who was so deep in depression he had become a bloody prostitute. What did that say about himself?

Charles had used him. That’s what it said in crystal clear letters and he felt so sorry, so, so guilty. And ashamed. But guilty most of all.

_I’ll stop if you say no…Say no._

Why couldn’t he have said no? Why didn’t he? Why hadn’t he managed to just be a good friend?

Why change a good thing, right? he thought bitterly, hatred stabbing into his chest with a sharp pain that lodged under his ribs reminding him of what he’d done and had missed to do in the first place. Why had he never followed up on his instinct, his bad feeling?

_Why change a good thing, right?_

Another week passed without any notice from Erik.

Charles had brought psychology books back from the NYU library, researching depression after his nights searching the net had been unsatisfactory in yielding results he could work with.

He had learned a few things though.

Depression was characterized by an all-encompassing low mood accompanied by low self esteem and by a loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities (Charles had not exactly observed that, but he had noticed that Erik only seemed in a good mood, when he saw Charles. Never before that, or indeed after.)  
Depressives had trouble with sleep (he had noticed this long before Erik had confided in him)  
Depressives had trouble with social interactions, which could be very strenuous and exhausting for them physically and emotionally (Erik and him had danced around each other constantly, Charles noticed now he looked back at it and Erik’s mood and signals had been more than a little mixed…. But then, so had his own, he guessed)  
Depressives seemed to have trouble with maintaining social contacts (which was exactly what Charles was struggling with at the moment, he assumed and hoped, because there was something even more worrying than simple loss of contact)  
Statistically 3-4% of people with a major depressive disorder committed suicide (this was, what Charles was fearing most of all)

He had taken to buying a local newspaper every day, checking for deaths.

All in all Erik had seemed to be a highly functioning depressive, but maybe Charles was the last straw. Maybe Charles was the last push over the edge and Erik was long dead, maybe never found, having wandered into one of the large forests in Berlin to take his life?

Charles could not help, but think about the wild boars uprooting a body in Grunewald forest.

He vomited that night until nothing but bile was left in his stomach and after that was gone too, he was down to dry heaves.

He didn’t go to sleep that night, waiting anxiously for next day’s news paper.

xXx

Raven arrived a few days before Christmas at Tegel Airport.

Charles had done the Christmas shopping on auto pilot, he had managed, but just barely. His mind was scattered everywhere and he was aware, that he looked like shit.

Raven seemed to notice, but didn’t comment, hugging him a little tighter than normal, but that could just be them not seeing each other that often anymore.

That evening she sat him down on the couch in exactly the same place he had sat Erik down that night. She couldn’t know that of course, but it turned his stomach regardless.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed a few times, tasting sour bile.

Raven just looked at him with her intense blue-green eyes and Charles felt his own quickly blur and sting. His breath hitched and his throat felt too tight all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, taking his hand and pulling him towards her.

He suddenly and for the first time, broke out in silent tears. They just streamed down his face. Sobs wracked him without any noise, just his hitched breathing shuddering out of his chest, feeling too tight to accommodate him. She let his head rest against her shoulder and just wordlessly stroked his back, murmuring nonsense words. Their sounds washed over him, soothing and nice.

Charles just let the tears flow. They dripped onto her collar bone. He watched them paint tracks one by one on her skin. For every tear that dripped down his nose onto her fair skin he felt a new wave well up in his eyes and a new sob wrack his throat as he shook.

Then he talked. Between sobs he explained everything that had happened. He didn’t care about sensibilities, or if he shocked her with any of it. He just needed to let go and have someone, who would just catch him.

She did, murmuring her soothing sounds, tightening her arms around him. Her breath was warming his scalp through his hair. With every of her humming breaths he calmed a little more. After a while he sat up, looking at her.

“So you fell in love with him.” She said it as a statement. Charles’s chest constricted and then released in utter relief at her warm, understanding gaze. Some more tears slid down his blotchy cheeks and he nodded, then shrugged forlornly, looking away.

Raven leaned forwards, taking his face between her small hands, turning him back to look at her. “I love you,” she said, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks, “You’re my brother and I love you Charles and it hurts me to see you like this.”

He nodded slightly hindered by her hands on either side of his face and pulled himself forcefully together. “That’s not what I meant,” She muttered a little disapprovingly, “But you need to do something.”

He nodded again, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve like he hadn’t done since he had turned seven.

“Have you thought about moving?” she asked carefully.

“What if he comes back?” Already when he said it, he felt stupid and incredibly naïve for even thinking that, but Charles had never been one to let hope go. He hunched his shoulders, avoiding her gaze.

“Charles,” she murmured sympathetically, stroking his arm, “there is obviously a lot here that reminds you of him. It’s not good for you.”

He nodded, agreeing with her and felt new tears spring up, rolling down his face, as he made his decision to let him go.

Somehow he felt relieved. Guilty as well, but most of all relieved.

Raven enveloped him in her arms again, pulling him even tighter against her, letting him cry even more.

xXx

In mid February Charles stood in his empty flat for the last time.

All the IKEA furniture was gone, every room empty and there was a strange, hollow echo when he moved around.

He’d brought something with him to the flat in a non-descript linen bag to leave it here, just before he’d go over to management to hand over his keys.

He took out the thermos and set it carefully on the kitchen counter, depositing a note for the next tenant next to it.

It asked in both English and the nicest German he could manage that if someone named Erik would ever ring the door, they should give it to him as a reminder of their time and a thank you.

Charles left and pretended he could leave all this behind him.

xXx FIN xXx

**Author's Note:**

> For all those, who's hearts I've just broken: [**Duct tape fixes everything!**](http://i1237.photobucket.com/albums/ff470/Ankamo/DuctTapefixesEverything.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm working on a sequel....  
> It is rough, unbetaed, and will be slow-going, but you can find the beginning of the sequel [ here](http://cylin.livejournal.com/13307.html) at my LiveJournal.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Berlin ist ein Dorf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284405) by [SmartPeach3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartPeach3/pseuds/SmartPeach3)




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